Forbidden: The Sheikh's Virgin (11 page)

For a minute or two she just stared, before realising that it wasn’t just the colour of her dress that made her look so different and turned back the clock. It was her eyes that had changed also. They looked alive, somehow. Excited. As they had so many years before. As they had when they’d been filled with love—and desire—for Rafiq.

The desire was still there.

Her heart fluttered in her chest and she gasped, unused for so long to feeling the heat of need, surprised by its power. She’d once put this feeling down to adolescence and the stirrings of the first tender buds of first love.

But it wasn’t that now.

She’d tried to deny it because it was beyond modesty to think of such things—forbidden territory for a woman in her position to feel such raw, potent need.

She’d tried to deny it because she was so ashamed of her past. So ashamed of the things her body had been used for.

But there was no denying it.

She did want him. She did need him. And it didn’t matter what happened after this—for destiny seemed determined to keep them apart—it didn’t matter that she’d married another
when she’d loved Rafiq, it didn’t matter that he’d sworn he’d never marry her now. There was no denying it. She wanted him.

Star-crossed they might be, destined never to be together, but maybe tonight,
this night
, they would become lovers.

She brushed her hair, giddy with anticipation, her blood fizzing in her veins at the recklessness of her thoughts. She’d never known the pleasure a man could give. She’d never known the magic she’d heard newly married women giggle about in muffled whispers to each other in the hallways of the palace. She’d never known the delights of the flesh.

Rafiq, she was sure, could supply them.

And why shouldn’t she take advantage of this beachside encampment, just as Rafiq intended? Why should she not use it for her own purposes, to assuage her own desperate longings and desires?

Just one night, with a man who would never love her, never marry her. It was wrong on so many levels. And yet on so many more it was right.

She smoothed down her dress, garnering her resolve in the process. If he did intend to kiss her again tonight, if he did want them to be uninterrupted, she would not be the one to interrupt.

This night was like a gift from the gods. People said you didn’t get a second chance, that you couldn’t go back, and maybe they were right. Maybe there
was
no going back to the days when she had believed she and Rafiq would one day marry and share their lives together for ever. Those days were surely gone.

But one night—this night—was something. A glimpse, perhaps, of what might have been. A bittersweet reminder of what she had lost.

And something to hold close to her when he had gone from her life again. For he would leave soon, return to his business in Australia, forget about her all over again.

She would have this one night to remember for ever. She took
one last, steeling breath of air, recognising the effort was futile, that she would never settle the butterflies that even now jostled for air space in her stomach, before she stepped from the tent.

All was prepared. Rafiq waited patiently. The table under the stars was prepared; the food was ready to serve. All that was needed was Sera.

Away from the tents he could hear the men talking around their campfire, the burble and fragrant scent of the
shisha
pipe carrying on the night breeze. A perfect evening, neither too hot nor too cool, with the blanket of stars a slow-moving picture overhead.

And then Sera appeared, and the night became even more perfect.

Shyly she approached the table, her eyes cast downwards.
Like a virgin
, he thought. A shy and timid innocent, on her way to be sacrificed. But she was no virgin, he knew. And it was not white that she wore. Nor even black, he acknowledged with relief. The blue gown skimmed her curves, fitting without catching anywhere, the shimmering gem-encrusted silk bringing her body alive in light and shadow as she moved, the jewels around her neck turning her into a glittering prize.

His prize.

‘You look beautiful,’ he said, his voice thicker than usual, and for the first time her eyes lifted, only to widen with shock when she saw him. ‘Rafiq!’

And he smiled. ‘A fair trade, wouldn’t you say? My robe for your gown.’

‘Rafiq, you look— You look…’
Devastating.
Her eyes drank him in—this man who wore Armani and turned it into an art form, this man who lifted a mere suit and made it an extension of his lean, powerful self, who looked like a god in the robes of his countrymen. The snowy-white robe turned his olive skin to burnished gold, turned his black hair obsidian.
And his eyes—what it did to his eyes! They were like sapphires warmed by the light of the moon. Penetrating. Captivating.

He looked taller somehow, and even more commanding, and she had no doubt he was indeed a true prince of Qusay!

Finally she managed to untangle her useless tongue. ‘I mean, you look different—almost like you belong here.’

And he laughed as she hadn’t heard him laugh for so long, the sound rich and strong, his face turned up to the heavens and showing off the strong line of his throat. ‘My mother will be delighted to hear it. She has been on at me to wear the traditional robes from the moment I arrived. But now come. Sit. Eat. For we are far from the palace, and tonight…’ he swept his arm around in an arc ‘…this is our palace.’

His eyes seemed to glitter more brightly than any jewels she was wearing, his teeth shining white in his smile.

Staff appeared from nowhere, ready to serve and fill glasses and dishes, to perform every wish of their master, before fading back into the darkness of the night as the sea provided music, its endless swoosh and suck of the waves curling over the shore. Here, this night, she could believe he had embraced his role as prince. Here she could see the man had become more than a prince in name only.

‘Doesn’t it frighten you?’ she asked softly, when the staff had edged back into the night. ‘Knowing your brother will be king? To know that you are but one step from becoming king yourself?’

His face tightened. ‘Nothing will happen to Kareef. Before long he will marry and have the heirs he needs and I will no longer be second in line to the throne. Besides which,’ he said, attempting a smile, ‘there is always Tahir.’

‘Your younger brother? But nobody even knows where he is.’

Rafiq shook his head, not for the first time wondering where his wayward brother had got to. Maybe there would be some
news when they returned to the palace. He shrugged. ‘It is all academic. Kareef will make a fine King.’

A servant bowed and approached the pair then, asking if they needed anything more. Rafiq waved the intrusion away. Neither of them seemed to be hungry, merely picking at their food despite the tender herbed meat and freshly spiced vegetables. Instead they seemed content to drink each other in with their eyes, as if that was all the sustenance they needed.

It was all Rafiq needed. To see her like this, her beauty emblazoned in colour, for once highlighting instead of dragging down her dark beauty, was enough to sustain him.

Almost enough.

‘Why did you do it?’ he asked softly, when it was clear both of them were finished with eating, even though their plates were still full.

‘Why did I do what?’

‘Why did you bother to make a deal with the women’s council? You could have accepted their position when they said they’d like to seek a counter-offer. You could have walked away then, knowing that Suleman had predicted such an outcome, knowing I’d half expected it. You could have walked away from the negotiation. After all, why should you care whether or not I got the deal? The way I’ve spoken to you, dragged you halfway across the desert against your wishes, why wouldn’t you want to sabotage my chances?’

She leaned back in her chair, her eyes thoughtful, though it was the way the fabric tugged across her breasts that captured his gaze, and he felt his hunger building—though not for food.

She paused before answering, as if measuring her words, wanting to make each one count. ‘I know it’s hard for you to believe, Rafiq, but I was hoping to make up a little for the pain I caused you in the past. I am truly sorry for what happened, and for the way you found out about my wedding.’

He growled, cursing himself for bothering to make conversation when all he wanted was to bury himself in her body. He wasn’t interested in hearing her lame excuses again. ‘You didn’t look sorry at the time! You didn’t sound sorry.’

‘I don’t… I can’t expect you to believe me.’

‘And how
can
I believe you? You keep saying you had no choice.’

If she’d looked away he might have felt differently. If she’d looked away he might have thought she’d had something to hide. But she held his gaze from under lids slumberous with intent, her eyes fixed level upon his. ‘I had a choice,’ she started, and he flinched and wished she had said something different. ‘A choice that was made plain to me. I could protect my family’s honour, with the promise of a plush job for my father, or he would ruin them for ever.’

‘
He
would ruin them? Who do you mean?’

‘Who do you think? Was he not there, gloating at the wedding, knowing it had all gone even more perfectly than he’d imagined?’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Your father, Rafiq. Your own father threatened me, told me that a match between you and me would come to nothing. I already knew how badly Kareef had suffered, but when your father visited me, told me that he had plans for you, plans that included better than me, and that my entire family would suffer if I did not marry Hussein, what choice did I have? Do you really think I could have married Hussein otherwise? Do you really believe that?’

But Rafiq was still reeling from the discovery his father had had a hand in his betrayal. That it was his father who had been the one to force them apart. His own father.

Ever since their argument at the oasis yesterday it had bothered him. Sera had said then that she’d had no choice, that
she couldn’t bring the shame of Jasmine’s family on her own, and in the white-hot heat of his fury he had refused to listen, refused to see her point of view.

But he had lived in Australia a long time. He had forgotten what life was like here—had failed to remember the expectations a father had for his daughters, had disregarded what it must have been like to live with the ever-present risk of shaming one’s family by one’s actions.

And he had never for a moment considered a father’s expectations for his sons. His father had wanted to control every aspect of his sons’ upbringing, had made every decision, and he had been beyond furious when Kareef had been rescued in the desert with Jasmine.

Of course he had wanted to choose their wives. Of course he would have considered it his choice. He had wanted to control their lives. Instead, he had driven them all away, one by one.

It made some kind of sense. Even his own mother taking Sera in. No wonder she felt responsible. No wonder she wanted to make amends.

Rafiq dragged fingers through his hair, nails raking his scalp. He had been blinded by his own hurt. His own pain. Rendered himself incapable of seeing anything else.

And while his mind reeled with his own inadequacies, another snippet managed to filter through. His mind spun backwards, desperate to replay the words…

‘…when your father visited me, told me that he had plans for you, plans that included better than me, and that my entire family would suffer if I did not marry Hussein, what choice did I have? Do you really think I could have married Hussein otherwise?’

A tidal wave could not have hit him with more force. ‘You didn’t want to marry him. You didn’t love him.’

And this time she did turn her head away, as if she couldn’t bear to look at him while she spoke of her husband. ‘I never loved him!’

There was a chill in her words that he didn’t understand, couldn’t compute, but there was no time to analyse that now, no time to think of anything but the incredible satisfaction of knowing she had never loved her husband. ‘And when you told me, in front of everyone, that you had never loved me…’

She dropped her face into her hands. ‘I lied.’ Her voice was as thin as the golden thread that held the tiny gems to her gown, and he felt her words run ice-cold through his veins.

He thrust his hands once more through his hair, the pain of his nails raking his scalp nowhere near enough to wipe away the pain in his heart. He wanted to believe her. So much. But still it wasn’t enough. Because it hadn’t just been the words she’d spoken. It had been the evidence of his own eyes that had damned her, and still did.

‘But it wasn’t just what you told me, was it? I saw you at the reception! I saw him pull you to him. I saw him practically thrust his tongue down your throat, his hand mauling your breast. And I saw you reaching out your own hand to his lap, squeezing him like you’d never touched me! Everyone was busy watching the dancers, but I witnessed it all. And I wanted to tear him limb from limb. It was only Kareef who managed to talk sense into me, holding me back and telling me to go, to leave you, to get out while I still could.’

‘And you would have seen me run out to be sick, but you had already gone!’ Her voice was but a whisper, a thin thread that sounded as if at any moment it might snap. ‘Hussein liked you watching. He revelled in the jealousy he saw in your expression.’

‘Why did you do it? How could you do it?’

‘He threatened me. Said if you kept coming after me he would hurt you. Not enough to enrage your father, but enough to teach you a lesson.’ Her head sagged further towards her lap. ‘I couldn’t let that happen. I had to convince you that we were
over. If you wouldn’t believe my declaration that I’d never loved you, there was no other way but to do as he said.’

Mechanically he left his chair, crossed to her side, all without consciously thinking about what he was doing. He knelt at her side, took her wrists in his hands, and peeled her hands away. Moisture clung to her closed lashes; her lips were jammed together.