The Sheikh's Determined Lover Read online

  Stop it.

  Arif shut the door, and the car moved down the drive with a low purr and not so much as a bump. Okay, she could get used to this. Her compact back home was great on gas mileage, but not much on comfort.

  Keeping his promise, Arif also kept his distance from her. It was almost maddening to be so close, with his scent teasing her and those long elegant fingers gesturing but not touching. He offered her sparkling water in a cut-crystal glass, asked about her day, how her research was going. She didn't think he could be all that interested, but he listened with his body angled toward her, his eyes serious and attentive, and she found herself starting to talk about the latest discovery of a manuscript with the writing in Greek, Coptic, and early Egyptian hieroglyphs.

  "It's unusual, and I'm struggling a little with the translations. I can't tell yet if the Greek is a translation or just comments on the hieroglyphs."

  He lounged against the leather seats and crossed his legs, which almost touched hers. "If you need resources, let me know. I maintain my ties to Oxford, and I am supposed to be the Protector of Knowledge. What good is protecting it, if that knowledge is not shared? That is Sahl's problem. His idea is to never allow anyone to touch anything to keep it safe. If he'd ever had a child, he would have put the poor thing under glass."

  "No wonder the place isn't properly cataloged and organized."

  Arif nodded. "I've begged Tarek to retire the man, but Sahl served Tarek's father, and his father before that. Shiekha Amal—Tarek's grandmother—would be angry to see the man let go from his position, and Sahl might well just die without his work, and so Tarek cannot bring himself to do what ought to have been done years ago."

  "Have you considered bringing in an assistant? Those documents really need to be digitized, and while it's dry here, there's the issue of preservation."

  "Oh, the rooms are now climate controlled. Tarek saw to that at least."

  "You sound fond of your cousin."

  With a smile, Arif launched into stories of how he and his cousins had grown up in the palace and then been sent off to school together. "I was the serious one," Arif admitted.

  She found herself laughing at some of their exploits—the time they'd swapped their professor's lecture notes with a Monty Python sketch to see if the old guy was paying attention, and he hadn't noticed until halfway through, or the time they'd gotten themselves utterly lost in the desert on a dare from Nasim.

  "We are city boys at heart, I fear," Arif admitted. He shook his head, and Christine caught herself reaching for his hand to pat it. She pulled back and glanced out the window instead, seeing only the lights of the city behind them and the darkness of the desert in front. A half-moon hung high in the sky.

  Looking back at Arif, she asked, "Just where are we going?"

  "We are here." He drank the last of his water, put the crystal glass down, and waved at the huge tents spread around a torch-lit oasis.

  Christine leaned forward. The limo pulled to a stop, Arif got out and offered his hand. She had to take it, and for a moment she clung to him, wobbling on her heels on the uneven ground. His arm went around her waist. Her heart skipped a beat, but he let go and offered his arm. Just like a gentleman. This kind of thing was going to drive her crazy.

  His spice had mixed with that coming from the tents. A shrill ululation split the air. Several drums were beating, and the smell of roast meat reminded Christine she'd skipped lunch and hadn't had dinner yet. Her mouth started to water.

  Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, she turned her attention to the oasis.

  A half-dozen black tents flapped in a slight breeze. Almost everyone seemed to be in traditional garb, men and women. She glimpsed an occasional suit or dress, and she was glad she'd changed and had gone for something covering and dressy. The desert air had cooled, and now she was almost comfortable. Except for the heels.

  Two steps and she was sinking in the sand and wobbling again. Arif glanced down at her. He turned to the nearest man and said something far too rapid in Arabic for her to follow. A moment later, a woman in black robes and headscarf appeared with soft, black boots, which she offered to Christine.

  Christine hesitated only a moment. "Shokran…shokran jazeelan. Thank you. Thanks very much." The woman giggled, and Christine hoped it wasn't because of her accented Arabic. She'd never really used it much before this trip. She swapped her heels for the boots and handed the shoes back to the woman.

  The woman glanced at Arif. "Hal beleemkan?"

  Fighting not to roll her eyes, Christine said, "Tab’an! Sure—it's a fair trade."

  Eyes dancing, the woman took the shoes. They disappeared under the black robes. With a bow, the woman rejoined the others nearer the tents. Christine wiggled her toes in the boots—they were a touch large—and glanced over at Arif. He was smiling at her, eyebrows lifted.

  Christine lifted her chin. "Well, she didn't have to ask you if it was okay. They were my shoes to give away."

  "But of course. And now, let us join the wedding guests."

  She stopped where she was and slipped her hand from Arif's arm. "Wedding? Are you trying to marry me here and now?"

  He grinned. "You haven't moved the ring on your finger—so, no. Wafa is the daughter of Abd Al-Wali, who is my third cousin on my father's side, and therefore related to the royal family. I must attend, since there is a family tie and Tarek cannot, but she marries into the Bedouin who travel through Zahkim as they roam the desert. This is to be an utterly traditional wedding. You will see customs that date back thousands of years."

  Christine's eyes brightened, and a smile lit her face. It was like watching the day dawn. Arif caught a breath. He also caught her hand. She did not pull away from him, so he led her into the nomad's camp. She seemed to want to see everything, and she asked a thousand questions. He did not mind. And he watched only her.

  He did not bother to explain that the wedding had been going on for two days already. He did, however, tell her about the traditions unique to the nomads of Zahkim. In Zahkim, men and women did not celebrate in separate tents. The wedding was held under the stars, not inside the main tent, where goat and camel meat, lentil stew, sweet cakes, and tea had been set out.

  The drumming stopped, and the bride stepped out of her tent, her robes and the arga covering her lower face lavishly decorated with golden coins that glittered and clattered as she moved, her eyes bright and rimmed with kohl. Christine caught a breath when the bride lifted her hand, revealing the red henna tattoos on her hands in far more intricate patterns than Tess had gone for at her wedding.

  "Those are amazing," Christine whispered, leaning closer to Arif.

  He made a mental note that his Christine must have the most beautiful designs put on her skin at her laylat al henna party. Leaning closer to her, he caught a whiff of her scent, and his pulse quickened.

  Putting a hand over hers, he said, "They have no meaning; they are for beauty only."

  The ceremony was simple and short, and afterwards the feast started—and the nomads of Zahkim knew how to party. Christine was pulled into a dance with the women. Tradition held that a women should only dance in front of other women if veiled, and so one of the other women handed her a black veil so she could join in. Guests threw candies into the air, and jokes circulated about how poor Maali had his hands full with a bride who would rule his house. The party moved into the tent to partake of the feast, and the drumming started up again, along with songs and more dancing.

  The festivities were still going on when Arif noticed Christine's shoulders starting to sag. He rose, offered his congratulations to the two families, along with a handsome bride gift of money, and then made their farewells. He led Christine back to the limo with a hand at the small of her back.

  Once inside the car, Christine settled back with a sigh. "That was amazing. But the bride and groom…they seemed so young."

  "Not much younger than we are. And very much in love. Maali has been engaged to Wafa for two years—th
ey met in college, actually. It is custom in Zahkim to marry for love. We don't have arranged marriages, generally."

  "Really?" The questions started again. Why was the wedding held under the stars? Was the food prepared by the groom’s or bride's family? Was there a dowry or bride contract made? She seemed made of questions.

  Arif answered as best he could. He'd never given a thought to most of these things. They arrived back at the palace, and he helped Christine from the limo. She stood on the steps, her hand in his and smiled.

  "Thank you. That was wonderful. But what a lot of fuss. I think eloping is a heck of a lot easier."

  Arif frowned. Did his bride to be wish him to simply run away with her? That would not go over well within the royal family. But if that was what she wanted… No, he could not do it. They needed a proper wedding to be properly married. For now, however, he was not content to let this night end.

  Keeping hold of her hand, he said, "There is one more thing you must see." He led Christine into the palace, down the hallway, and up the old narrow stone stairs. She came with him, for once not hanging back or making excuses to leave. Her boots made no sound on the marble, and his shoes only tapped lightly. The stairway curved and finally opened out at the top of the eastern turret. Arif turned to Christine and swept out a hand. "Behold, Zahkim and all of Al Resab is at your feet."

  She dropped his hand and walked to the turret's stone balustrade. "Wow—now that's a view."

  The city lights of Al Resab glittered in the distance, almost as bright as the stars that swept a path of light overhead. Perfumed scents from the garden in the middle of the palace drifted up to them. The breeze had died, and the night seemed utterly still, as if the darkness wanted to close around them and shield them.

  Coming to her side, Arif stopped next to her. Close enough to smell her scent—something faintly sweet—close enough to feel the warmth from her body, close enough to hear the breath catch in her throat. He put his hand over hers and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Come into my arms, Christine. Here. Now. With only the moon and stars to see us. I want you so badly, my body aches for the need of you."

  Chapter Nine

  Christine turned to him. This wasn't smart. She knew that. She also knew what she was doing when she put a hand on his chest and felt his heart jump. The pulse thudded slow and heavy in her neck. She should say no. She should be polite and wise and get back to her research.

  But she was suddenly envious of the beautiful Wafa, who'd had such an amazing wedding. Wafa was living her own fairy tale from the Arabian Nights, and Christine had to admit a stab of jealousy had swept through when she'd seen Wafa, seated on silken pillows, looking adoringly into the eyes of her new husband. That was never going to be her fate—she knew that. She was too practical, too wrapped up in trying to help her father, and then she'd have to face the daunting task of establishing her own career—or she'd end up teaching at some small university and barely scraping by. And yet here was Arif offering her one magical night.

  It would be wise to say no. She wouldn't have her heart broken when she had to get back to her real life. But with sudden clarity, she knew she'd regret that now. Someday, when she was far older, when the bloom of youth had faded, leaving her without even that attraction, she'd look back on this night and smile—if she said yes.

  But she couldn't get the word out.

  She put her hand in Arif's.

  He shook his head. "No, you must tell me you wish this. If you do not, I will take you back to your rooms and give you a chaste kiss on your cheek, even if it kills me to do so. You must tell me what you want."

  "You." She got the word out on a breath.

  Stepping back, Arif smiled, his face shadowed by the night and only revealed by the glow of the lights outside the palace walls. She thought he would lead her back down the stairs to her bedroom—or to his. Instead, he took off his black jacket and spread it on the tile floor. His tie went next. His shirt came off, revealing all that sculpted muscle and lean body and tanned skin. Shoes, socks, and pants followed after that, leaving him in black underwear, which he skimmed off his narrow hips.

  She felt wanton to be dressed while he stood before her, naked and touched by a sliver of pale starlight. She wanted to match his daring. Reaching behind her, she pulled down the zipper and eased the dress from her shoulders, letting it pool around her feet. She slipped out of the boots and walked to Arif.

  He ran his fingertips down her arms, leaving behind a shiver and goosebumps.

  Leaning over her, he kissed her shoulder and slipped down the strap of her bra. He did the same to her other shoulder, reached around her, took her in his arms, and kissed her.

  His mouth angled over hers. She parted her lips, welcomed the warmth of his body against hers, felt the nudge of his erection. She gave a sigh and gave herself to sensation—to soft lips, bristling beard, nipping teeth, and his ever-questing tongue. He teased and stroked and had her panties soaked with arousal. She wanted him. Now.

  She started to drag off her panties, but Arif pulled back and shook his head. He carried her down with him to his pile of clothes, spread her out over them. The tiles still gave off remaining warmth from the heat of the sun, but she shivered again because Arif had unhooked her bra and stretched out beside her.

  "Beautiful," he murmured and put his mouth on her breast.

  She arched for him. He tugged on one taut nipple, turned to the other one, licked and then took it between his teeth, and teased it hard with small, rapid strokes. His hand glided down her stomach, slipped under her panties and between her legs. Mouth and hand worked on her. An ache rose in her, the need for more. He tormented her even more with soft bites and warm licks of his tongue. With a groan, she grabbed his shoulders. The pressure built inside her—that sweet yearning. She wanted him. Needed him. She moaned. He moved to her other nipple, rolled it in his mouth, took it between his teeth, and pulled back, as if trying to pull the orgasm out of her. His thumb rubbed over her clit, and then he pushed his fingers into her as he had at the ruins.

  The world shattered. She gasped and spread her legs wider, needing something to fill her, the ache insistent and pounding through her veins. Shuddering, she moaned. Arif stilled his hand and lifted off her.

  She turned in his arms and stroked his erection with one hand. "Now. In me. I want this."

  Arif stilled, muttered a curse for condoms that would not magically appear in place, and reached over his Christine to try and find that silver packet in his trouser pocket. He was probably going to ruin this.

  "Condom? You brought a condom?" Christine asked.

  She was going to think he had planned this seduction, but he had only had wishes and dreams. He shook his head, found the crinkling foil and ripped it open. "I am a man who lives in hope."

  She giggled…giggled! He paused to stare at her. She ran her fingernails over his chest. "Well, I live in books, so why not."

  He kissed the tip of her nose. "No, you are much more than any kind of bookworm. You are a miracle. A blessing. A wonder."

  Heat rose from her body—he could feel it as he'd felt it when she'd come in his arms. His cock twitched, and he put a hand on it to calm the urgent thing. He slipped on the condom, and that settled his too-hot blood.

  Taking hold of Christine's hips, he rolled onto his back, pulled her with him so she had to sit astride him. "I've had dreams of you riding me—ride me now, Christine. Take your pleasure as you will."

  It was not the caveman advice Nasim had given him, but damn Nasim—the man went through women as if they were toys to be used and discarded. Arif would allow his Christine to take what she wanted from him.

  She sat on his hips, his erection pressing against her. Her arousal left her wet and warm. He shifted, and she gave a small purr and dragged one fingernail over his left nipple. He arched for her as she had for him.

  "Wow—you're sensitive." She put her mouth on him and nipped as he had her.

  He groaned and grabbed her waist.
"Keep that up, and this will be the end to our evening."

  She sat up again and shook her head. "Oh, no. You're not getting out of this, buster." Leaning down, she kissed him, took his mouth as he had taken hers. He wrapped his fingers into her hair to keep her in place, to hold her to him, and he plunged his tongue into her the way he wanted to fuck her—hard, demanding, going as deep as possible. She turned soft in his arms and ground her hips against him.

  He didn't let go of her, but she shifted, and the head of his cock slipped into her. He groaned but didn't stop fucking her mouth with his tongue. She kept her hips hovering over him, just the head of his cock inside her. She did something—some small wiggle or rotation—and he groaned and let his head fall back. "I was wrong—you are a torment, not a blessing."

  She put her mouth on his neck, and he felt her smile. She wiggled down another half inch on him.

  Arif kept his hands on her hips. He would not roll over and throw her down and plunge into her. Not this time. No matter how much he wanted to. Shifting his hands to her breasts, he took them in his palms, squeezed and kneaded the softness. She sat up, threw her head back and pushed her hips down.

  He nudged the edge of rapture. He wanted to buck up, to push deeper. Christine caught a breath and then caught her lower lip between her teeth. A small line appeared between her eyebrows. With a growl, Arif pulled her face down to his, took her mouth with his, and pushed his tongue between her lips. She had liked that—someday he really must fuck that wide, generous mouth, but for now, he would let his tongue do what he wished to do to her with his cock. She groaned…and suddenly he pushed fully into her.

  She gave a cry, and he swallowed it down, shifted his hands to her ass and held her still. He worked his tongue now to soothe her, licked inside her mouth, nibbled on her lips, let her lie within his arms until she grew accustomed to him. She gave an experimental wiggle of her hips.

  Heat shot through up into his spine. She wrapped around him, and the world became nothing but her heat and the feeling of her—so tight and clutching at him with small spasms.