Defying her Desert Duty (9 page)

‘You’re sure?’ She hated how unsteady she sounded.

‘Positive.’

A moment later she felt the tiled steps beneath her feet. His hand uncurled hers from their vice-like grip of his neck and placed it on the warm flagstone at the pool’s edge.

‘You’re safe now. Absolutely.’

Yet it wasn’t the stairs beneath her feet that convinced her. It was Zahir’s strong, hard form flush against hers.

She’d assumed the next time they met she’d feel awkward, remembering the sizzle of sexual awareness that had charged the atmosphere back in the garage. But embarrassment was obliterated by relief.

‘Thank you.’ She couldn’t seem to let him go, but clung to him with her other arm, her heart galloping. He seemed to understand, for he didn’t release her.

‘You don’t swim?’ His eyes held hers.

She shook her head. ‘No,’ she croaked.

‘And you were in the pool because …?’

‘I was teaching myself to float.’ Her mouth wobbled in a parody of a smile. ‘Or trying to.’ She clamped her lips shut, not wanting to go further. Yet his constant, silent regard finally dragged the truth from her. ‘I’m scared of the water.’

She waited for his look of surprise but it didn’t come. He merely nodded his head. ‘Sensible of you. I would be too if I couldn’t swim.’

A ribbon of heat unfurled within her at Zahir’s easy acceptance and matter-of-fact tone. No condescension, no disbelief. He said nothing more, just held her safe as the water lapped around them and Soraya was grateful for his silent support.

‘It was the boy,’ she finally said, needing to explain. ‘Seeing him almost die because he couldn’t save himself.’ She yanked in a breath. ‘I saw him and felt … ‘

She looked away. What had she felt? Horror, déjà vu, fear.
And more.

‘I felt ashamed I’d never conquered my fear and learned to swim. I don’t want to be that helpless.’

Zahir’s fingers tightened on her. ‘Why are you so scared of the water?’

‘I almost drowned as a child. I was playing in the shallows. I thought my mother was watching me but she was … busy.’

Soraya pulled in a searing breath. Her mother had gone to her lover, the man she had eventually ran away with, presumably thinking Soraya wouldn’t venture deep.

Somehow through the years the two events had become entangled in her brain—the loss of her mother and her brush with death. As a child she’d almost believed she’d somehow driven her mother to leave with her near-drowning. Of course she knew better now, but the result was a dread of water she’d never been able to overcome.

Zahir’s broad palm slid up her back then down again in a gesture of silent comfort that unstrung more of the tension still threading her body.

‘What happened in Amboise must have brought it all back for you. No wonder you were white as a sheet.’

Soraya shrugged stiffly. ‘It was … horrible. But it made me realise I couldn’t go on pretending this fear doesn’t matter. I have to do something about it.’

Strong fingers took her chin and lifted it till she was staring into eyes dark as the night closing in around them.

‘Promise me you won’t do it alone.’ Though soft, Zahir’s voice had a rough edge that abraded her senses.

‘But I—’

‘I’ll teach you to swim, Soraya. Just promise me you won’t try it alone.’

Her heart pounded as his gaze held hers. Soraya’s insides melted at the banked heat she saw there.

‘I promise.’

‘Good.’ He nodded and took her hand in his. ‘We’ll start now.’

‘Now?’ Her eyes rounded.

‘No time like the present. Besides, we don’t want tonight’s episode to compound your fear, do we?’

It already had, but she bit down on the admission. The thought of going further into the depths horrified her.

Zahir’s fingers threaded between hers, his strength and heat melding with hers.

‘Trust me, Soraya?’

Her gaze roved his serious, almost grim face. She took in the lines of strength and character carved beside his mouth. There was determination in that solid jaw, arrogance in those aristocratic cheekbones and imperious nose, and a question in his clear gaze.

She thought of all she knew of him. He was capable, dependable and kind. How could she not trust him?

‘Yes,’ she said finally, and let him draw her into the water.

‘Tilt your head back into the water further.’

Soraya did as he bid and Zahir was amazed anew that this was the same woman who a short time ago had been thrashing in panic half a metre from the edge of the pool. Now she floated on her back, his hands beneath her, the safeguard she needed to be confident in the water.

It humbled him that she trusted him so implicitly. Particularly since trust hadn’t come easily to her. Initially they’d been like wary, armed combatants in an uneasy truce because of his early misjudgements of her.

Recently that wariness had blossomed into something akin to friendship, or at least understanding.

Except when his libido escaped his constraints and reminded him she was the most seductively attractive woman he’d ever known. Dancing with her in a public square had tested his limits. But this … Even dressed in a tank top and cut-offs rather than a skimpy bikini, she fired his blood.

‘Why didn’t you wear a swimsuit?’ He asked, trying to take his mind off the sensual promise of her body spread before him.

He felt like a sultan offered a feast for the senses. But he had to deny himself and keep his touch brisk and businesslike. He couldn’t betray her trust.

‘I don’t own one.’ She darted a look at him then away. ‘There’s no point when I’d never use it.’

Zahir refrained from pointing out many women wore bikinis that never got wet. They were for display, to show off ripe female curves to best advantage.

The more he knew Soraya the more he understood she was unique. Her shame at not overcoming her fear had surprised him. Her determination to beat it rather than live with what she saw as weakness appealed. She was some woman.

He applauded her pride and perseverance. She had such heart—as much as any warrior he’d known.

Yet her bravery had run close to stupidity tonight. In an instant she’d shattered the hard-won calm he’d spent all day working to achieve. What if he hadn’t come down to the pool for a swim? What if she’d drowned here alone? Anger and fear vied for dominance.

‘What were you doing in the deep end?’ Despite his best efforts his voice had a raw edge.

‘I knew if I was in the shallows I wouldn’t push myself. I had to face the danger.’

Hot shivers rippled through Zahir’s belly. ‘Just don’t do it again,
ever
, without me.’

She drove him crazy. Pride, fear and desire made for a combustible mix. How much longer could he keep a lid on them all?

‘I’ve already promised I won’t.’ She looked at him solemnly and his heart kicked against his ribs. ‘But I need to learn fast. You won’t always be around to help me.’

Of course he wouldn’t. He’d be managing Bakhara’s largest province and Soraya would be … with Hussein.

Clammy sweat broke out on Zahir’s skin and sick dread churned his stomach. He tried so hard to be honourable in thought as well as deed, but lately it was more than he could do.

It was a constant battle to rein in his imagination. As for concentrating on teaching her to relax in the water—it took every ounce of determination to focus.

‘Try kicking again but keep your legs straight.’

She did as instructed and together they moved down the pool.

‘I’m moving! I’m swimming!’

The delighted look she sent him drove a shaft of pure pleasure through his chest.

It was more reward than he deserved.

Even as he smiled back, his body tensed.

Her long hair, unbound for the first time, spread in a cloud of dark satin. Like mermaid’s tresses it caressed his hands, arms and belly as he walked with her. He’d never imagined it was so long. Now he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like rippling down her naked back and breasts as he made love to her.

Unable to take any more, he slipped his hands from beneath her and moved just far enough away to avoid contact. They were in the shallow end and she was in no danger.

Excited at her success, she didn’t notice his withdrawal. Her face glowed with effervescent joy.

A man would have to be made of desert stone not to respond to Soraya.

Despite his reputation as a hard warrior, Zahir was made of all-too-human flesh. If only he
were
stone!

How could he hold out against a woman who appealed to him on a level no woman ever had? Not even the girl he’d been head over heels in love with as a youth.

‘Zahir? What’s wrong?’ She was standing, water sluicing down the black top that clung like a second skin.

He shook his head. ‘Nothing’s wrong.’ He turned away. ‘That’s enough now. We’ll continue tomorrow and you can learn to float face-down, ready to swim properly.’

‘Really?’ She caught his hand and stopped him moving away. ‘You think I’m ready?’

Reluctantly he turned and looked down into a face that to his dazzled eyes seemed flawless. Excitement shone in her eyes and her smile wrapped around his heart.

He wasn’t aware of reaching out but found his hand cupping
her jaw. Her satiny skin was smooth and sleek to the touch. Her pulse trembled against his fingertips.

Something deep inside, something stronger than logic or caution, roared into life.

Her eyes were wide as she swayed towards him, her lips parting. To warn him off?

It was too late.

His lips met hers and the world collapsed around them.

S
ORAYA
had imagined his kiss so often. She’d even dreamed of it. The reality obliterated her imaginings as a tidal wave would the ripple of a single stone.

Zahir’s broad hands cradled her face, his touch tender yet strong as he held her head just so and angled his own for better access.

His questing tongue slicked her lips, parted them, and she shuddered in great racking waves as sensation exploded within her. Zahir devoured her, invited her, stole her breath with his audacious demands, yet even while plundering rapaciously offered back such sweet, poignant pleasure Soraya was lost.

The fresh taste of his breath was in her mouth. It was the most delicious flavour in the world—spice and salt and the mystery that was maleness. His scent filled her nostrils. His hard body was muscled and intriguing, his heart thundering with hers. His wet skin burned, branding her through her clothes, making her breasts tingle and a curl of indescribable tension twist deep and low.

Instinctively she grabbed his shoulders, swaying as her limbs melted, and the world became a place she didn’t recognise.

Nothing had prepared her for the vital life force throbbing through them as if they were one. Or the need spiralling out of control and the sheer wanton delight of being in his arms. Every sense was hyper-alert. Even the softly eddying water was a silken caress drawing her deeper into sensual overload.

She’d never felt more frail, more delicately feminine than now, with his heavy-muscled thighs braced wide around her, his hands trapping her, and his mouth seducing her with sheer, carnal pleasure.

Yet she’d never felt stronger. As if power sizzled and sparked in her blood. As if she could lay mountains low with a single flick of her fingers.

His kiss shattered her and rebuilt her at the same time.

Her hands slid from his shoulders to the back of his neck, up through his damp hair and he growled low in the back of his throat. It was a sound of approval, of male possession, and she revelled in it. Revelled in the power that she, even with her inexperience, had over this man who haunted her thoughts and dreams.

His tongue slid against hers, demanding a response, and she gave it, tentatively at first, then wholeheartedly, lost in the wonder of this heady world of passion.

Her whole body ached, throbbed for Zahir. Only him. She wanted to climb up his tall frame and meld herself against him. She
needed
with a desperation she’d never experienced or thought to know.

Even the rough pressure of his chest expanding against hers incited a thrill.

Soraya pressed closer, needy as never before. She loved the feel of his body, the unfamiliar outline of muscle, bone and sinew. The tickle of his hairy legs against hers. Lifting herself higher into his hold, her hips tilted against him and she registered the solid proof of his arousal.

At the feel of him, hot and heavy just
there
against her, she stilled. A frayed thread of common sense told her to move away, yet some older, sense-deep feminine instinct urged her closer.

Soraya was swaying nearer when firm hands grabbed her upper arms. An instant later she gulped huge drafts of air into oxygen-starved lungs as he put her from him. But nothing made up for the loss of Zahir’s mouth on hers, or his body against hers.

Hungrily she eyed his reddened lips. They were drawn flat now, matching the horizontal lines furrowing his brow.

Yet his eyes didn’t match his scowl. His eyes were smoky-dark and held a hint of the same shock she felt.

Soraya loved his eyes, she realised. From the first when they’d watched her so intently she’d felt a sizzle of awareness. Even when he’d looked askance at her, Zahir’s eyes had fascinated. Now they shared the secret she felt: the secret turmoil of amazing emotions and sensations.

The secret his grim face denied.

‘I’m sorry.’ His voice was harsh and unrecognisable. ‘That shouldn’t have happened.’

His gaze left hers to fix on something over her shoulder. As if he couldn’t bear to see her. Or as if he couldn’t face what he read in her face.

It was the first time he’d ever avoided her gaze.

Soraya felt something crumble inside.

She gulped down a shaky breath and searched for control. Her heart pounded and she had the shakes so badly she wasn’t sure she could stand without his support.

‘But you can’t pretend it didn’t happen.’ The words emerged breathless and uneven.

She didn’t understand what made her say it till he yanked his gaze back to hers and heat exploded inside.

That’s why. Because you want to feel it again—what Zahir makes you feel.

Because you want him to admit he feels it too.

But Zahir shook his head, thrusting her further away.

‘It was
wrong
.’ The last word was dragged from him as if from a tortured soul and she felt his pain as hers. His hands dropped and he stepped back, as if unable to remain within touching distance.

As if she tainted him.

Of course it was wrong. Soraya understood that all too well. To desire her husband-to-be’s most trusted advisor was disastrous. Unthinkable!

Yet it felt so right. When it was just she and Zahir, it felt incredible.

‘Zahir. Please, I … ‘

She didn’t know what she was going to say. Only knew she couldn’t bear the pain she read on his proud features. That she had to ease it somehow.

Yet he didn’t give her the chance. Before the words had left her mouth he’d vaulted from the pool, every line of his athlete’s body taut with rejection.

He didn’t say a word as he strode away.

Sunlight flooded the dining room as Soraya lingered over a very late breakfast. She’d fallen asleep at dawn and couldn’t summon the energy to go out, despite the glorious day.

What had she done?

Her flesh prickled whenever she thought of last night’s kiss. The way Zahir’s body and hers had fused together, driven by a force so potent she’d had no chance of overcoming it.

Or had she?

She shivered and rubbed her hands up her arms.

Her life had been shaped by the mother who’d left when she was six. Her mother had flitted from one affair to another. First to Soraya’s father, then to a string of handsome men till her untimely death.

Maybe it was a response to the negativity of those who expected her to turn out like her mum, but Soraya had never sought male attention. She’d happily accepted her beloved father’s over-protective ways and steered clear of men.

She’d told herself love was a weakness and desire—

She pushed her untasted breakfast away.

Desire had been a mere word. Safe in the knowledge she’d never experienced it, Soraya had supposed she never would. Until Zahir had caught her in his stormy gaze and nothing had been the same. It was as if he’d branded her as his that night and nothing, not logic or the threat of approaching marriage, could change that.

Her heart dipped.

Was she too destined to make a fool of herself, of honour and duty, for an attractive man?

It didn’t matter that duty led her down a path she shrank from. She’d committed to her fate. She couldn’t change it. Soraya pressed a hand to her forehead, as if to still her whirling thoughts.

She should be ashamed she’d kissed Zahir and wanted more.

Yes, she felt guilt and horror at what she’d done. Yet that wasn’t all. Last night had felt
right
, as if she and Zahir were
meant
. No matter how she castigated herself she couldn’t regret that kiss. It was emblazoned in her soul. A single point of perfect happiness.

It did no good to tell herself it was more than sex. That she’d begun to fall for the proud, caring, fascinating man she’d come to know. That just made the situation more impossible.

‘Mademoiselle?’ Soraya looked up to see the housekeeper in the doorway. ‘Monsieur El Hashem sent this for you.’

‘Thank you, Hortense.’ Puzzled, she took the shopping bag from her hand. Inside Soraya discovered silky material in swirling aquamarine and turquoise.

‘
Monsieur
said he’d be waiting for you in the pool.’

‘The pool?’ Soraya’s head shot up, tension crackling through her.

Hortense nodded and tsked as she collected Soraya’s still-laden breakfast plate. ‘That’s right. He said you had a lesson.’

It was foolhardy, Zahir knew. Being alone with her, his hands on her body, would be purest temptation. Yet he’d promised to teach her to swim.

The memory of Soraya flailing in the water, panicking and possibly drowning but for his intervention, froze his veins with a glacial chill. He had to know she’d be safe.

Besides, it would be cowardly to back out. A woman with so much heart and character deserved his respect.

She didn’t deserve his tongue in her mouth and his erection
surging between her legs—no matter how much he wanted her. She mightn’t be a complete innocent but he’d taken her by surprise with his ardour. He’d felt her shock and tried to pull back. Instead he’d succumbed to pleasure so intense it was like a drug.

Sweat broke out on his brow as Zahir relived the intense pleasure of last night’s kiss. The taste of her so deliciously enticing. The feel of her siren’s body against his. That mix of sweet tenderness and fiery wanton that had blown him away.

The wanting had been bad enough before he’d touched her. After last night it would be pure torment, knowing paradise was so close yet so far beyond his reach.

A sound made him look up. Soraya walked towards the pool, closely wrapped in a voluminous towelling robe despite the heat. Even seeing her bundled up sent his pulse soaring. Her hair, almost to her waist, trailed over one shoulder like an invitation to touch. Even her bare feet were enticing.

Zahir swallowed a knot of tension.

This would be his penance. Every second would be torture but he deserved it, and worse.

She was Hussein’s woman.
He’d known it and still hadn’t stopped. Now he would face his punishment though it would be the most difficult thing he’d ever done.

She stopped by the pool, eyes wary.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

‘I promised I would teach you to swim. I never go back on a promise.’ Yet just watching her played havoc with his breathing. A tremor quivered through his limbs as he met her doubtful gaze.

‘I apologise for my behaviour last night.’ The words spilled from stiff lips. ‘I have no excuse. But, believe me, it won’t happen again.’

She met his eyes and for an insane moment he felt a thud of connection between them. It made no difference. It
couldn’t
make a difference.

‘I’m sorry too,’ she murmured, her gaze dipping. ‘Last night … It wasn’t just you. It was me too.’

Zahir didn’t need to be reminded of how she’d undone him with her sweet responsiveness. He shook his head. He knew exactly where the guilt lay.

‘I’m responsible for you.’

‘For my safety. That’s all.’ Her eyes sparkled with a militant light but he forbore to argue.

‘Thank you for the swimsuit,’ she said at last, not quite meeting his gaze. ‘You must have been out early.’

He hadn’t been to bed, had spent the night alternately berating himself and reliving the guilty pleasure he’d sworn to put behind him.

Zahir remained silent as she fumbled with the tie at her waist and let the robe fall away.

The air sucked from his lungs in a rush as she turned.

She looked like a mermaid, indecently alluring even in the most modest one-piece outfit he could find. He’d been right about her size—too right. The stretch fabric clung like a lover’s caress, making his fingers itch as he remembered the feel of her beneath his hands.

She was all enticing curves and supple limbs. The fall of her hair in thick, waving tresses accentuated her femininity, appealing to some primal male part of him that relished each difference between them. Heat roared through him in an out-of-control rush and he fought to retain his composure.

Deliberately he looked at his watch. ‘We’ve just time for another lesson before we leave.’

She faltered at the edge of the pool. ‘Leave?’

Zahir nodded and beckoned her down the steps. ‘Yes. I’ve arranged the next leg of our journey. You wanted to see France and you can’t do that while we’re isolated here.’

He looked away before he could read her reaction. It didn’t matter what she said; the decision was made. Immersion in rural quiet had thrown them together. What they needed now
was people, cities, action. Anything to keep them occupied and stop him dwelling on Soraya Karim and what she did to him.

Half an hour later Soraya was flushed with excitement and pleasure at what she’d achieved. Even her distress and embarrassment had ebbed to a dull, gnawing ache. For Zahir was utterly businesslike, intent only on her progress.

It was as if last night hadn’t happened, except for the jerk of electricity, as if from a live wire, whenever they touched.

Now, breathless, she sank back against the end of the pool, watching as Zahir hauled himself out.

The play of bunching muscles across his back and arms mesmerised her. He really was the most remarkable-looking man. She could watch him for hours. Every movement was graceful despite the raw power he so carefully leashed.

‘What’s that mark? The one along your side?’

As he turned, his brows jammed together as if he was displeased she’d ended their unspoken agreement to avoid personal topics.

‘I’ve been a warrior all my life. I have scars. It comes with the territory.’ He shrugged and reached for his towel.

Soraya noticed then that the dark golden skin of his back was smooth and unblemished. The old scars were on his chest and arms. The marks of a warrior.

Something, a little frisson of feminine excitement, tingled through her, making her frown. It wasn’t that she relished the idea of combat, but at a deep, primitive level there was something thrilling about the idea of a strong man prepared to defend what he believed in.

‘But that one’s different.’ She pointed to a white pucker of flesh at his side. It was none of her business but she couldn’t stifle the need to know more about him. Surely her question was innocuous?