Never Resist a Sheikh (International Bad Boys) (19 page)

“Rest now,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Sleep if you can. I will come for you before the feast tonight.”

Then before she could speak, he was gone.

She swallowed, her heart thundering in ears, her mouth burning, her body prickling with sharp heat. Yes, rest. That was probably
a good thing, though it was going to be difficult after all that.

He was going to let her go if she wanted to.

She lay on the bed, curling her knees up to her chest, her brain circling around and around. But not about the fact that she could be leaving in just a few days.

I cannot give you love.

She had no idea why that stuck in her head, because she didn’t want love. At least not from him.
And yet that was all she seemed able to think about. Why couldn’t he give her love? Why couldn’t he give that to anyone? Did it have anything to do with his brother? And if so, why?

Too many questions. Damn her stupid brain for being unable to leave anything alone.

She flung an arm over her face, deciding she probably wouldn’t sleep. Only to find herself opening her eyes and realizing the diffused
light filtering through the canvas of the tent was now pink and orange with the colors of sunset.

So she had slept for a couple of hours at least.

She turned on her side, gazing at the colors on the canvas walls.

They were beautiful.

In fact, there was a lot about this country that was beautiful in many ways. Harsh, brutal, and extremely medieval, yes, but beautiful, too.

The palace for example,
with its stone hallways and courtyards full of potted olive trees. And the desert, with its blinding, harsh sun and the intense, beautiful colors.

And its sheikh. Dark, powerful, autocratic. Fiercely protective and absolutely determined. Honorable in his way. And as beautiful and as harsh as the country he came from.

I cannot give you love.

A shiver stole over her skin and she made herself
sit up, pushing away the sound of his voice. No more thinking. She had to get ready for this feast.

Sometime in the afternoon some robes had been delivered to her tent, a small stack of white silk sitting on the low table near the entrance.

Zakir had told her when they’d arrived at the camp that tonight, in honor of the desert ways and the old tradition of the bride games, he would come for
her on horseback and take her to the camp where all the tribes were gathered. They would feast and there would be gifts again, though hopefully this time there wouldn’t be any dirt.

Shaking out the robes, she dressed, enjoying the feeling of silk against her skin, then reached for the veil. She was pulling ineffectually at it when Zakir strode into the tent, black robes swirling out behind him
as he came.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his black eyes sweeping over her as if checking to make sure she was all there. “Better now?”

“Oh, yes. Much.” She held out her arms. “How’s this?”

He came forward, tugging the white silk she wore, enveloping her in his scent, making everything inside her constrict. She seemed to be painfully aware of his touch as he tucked in some bits here while tightening
other parts there. And it was disappointment she felt when, after a few brisk touches to her veil, he stood back, giving her another sweeping glance then nodding. “Perfect.”

She swallowed, wishing he could have stayed close to her for a few moments longer. “Really?”

The fierce expression on his face faded a little and his mouth curved in a tantalizing smile that turned something over in her
chest. “Yes. You are exactly what I wanted.”

A blush heated her cheeks. “Thank you,” she managed to force out, luckily without a stupid stutter.

The look in his eyes flared a moment. Then suddenly he turned on his heel. “Come.” And strode out of the tent.

She blinked then scurried after him, trying to catch up with his long stride.

Outside was a massive black horse, its bridle held by one
of Zakir’s staff.

With one smooth, fluid movement, he mounted the horse then took the reins. The huge animal shifted on its hooves as Zakir brought it closer to where she stood. Then in another display of effortless mastery, he leaned down and slid an arm around her waist, scooping her up and settling her on the horse behind him.

“Hold on tight to me,” he ordered. “We will be riding fast.”

She did so, moving herself closer, pressing up against the heat of his broad back.

And she’d only just locked her hands against his hard, flat stomach when he gave the horse a brisk kick, the animal exploding into movement, its hooves making hollow sounds on the rocky ground of the oasis as it headed for the trail to the tribe’s desert camp.

The sunset was brilliant, gold and orange and pink,
making the sky seem full of flames and igniting the dry and dusty landscape around them. The rocks and distant dunes going a deep red-gold in the slowly deepening twilight.

The air had cooled by this stage and it felt good to be out here under a brushfire sky, with the wind pulling at her veil, making it stream out behind her like it did in the movies. With her arms locked around the hard, muscular
heat of a dangerous man. A man who wanted her.

A fantasy almost.

She leaned into him, inhaling the dry, dusty scent of the desert, the animal smell of the horse beneath her, the sandalwood and spice scent of the man in front of her. Feeling the hard muscles of his abs flex and release with the movements of the horse.

This wasn’t a fantasy. This was real.

And the feeling inside her was real.
The empty, hollow ache.

He was still a puzzle and though she had some of the pieces, she sensed she didn’t quite have all of them. And she knew she wouldn’t want to leave until she did. So maybe these next few days with him she’d try and discover all she could. Once she’d worked him out, once she’d solved him, then she could go.

I cannot give you love.

Her arms tightened and she turned her
face against his robes.

She didn’t want love. She just wanted him.

*     *     *

The great tent
where the tribes held their feast was full of people. The sides of the tent had been drawn up, leaving half of it open to the desert night, braziers burning to stave off the chill.

A long table ran down the center of the tent, the chiefs on low pillows sitting
around it, with Zakir and his bride prize at the head. The rest of the tribe was eating at more low tables set up outside, the air full of conversation and laughter.

The taking of a bride was an important event, especially if the bride was that of the ruling sheikh, and the tribes had turned out their best effort in order to celebrate. There was food aplenty and wine for some. A very different
event to the formal presentation he’d given back at the palace.

The chiefs were curious as to their new sheikha and Zakir had been conscious of the whispers around the table, of the interest the chiefs had been showing. They were suspicious of her as a westerner, but also intrigued to hear she had her own company. And that she could potentially help them. A very different approach to that of
Faisal and his cronies.

As for Felicity herself, she’d been dealing very well with the sometimes impertinent questions asked of her—something of a tradition in the desert when it came to ascertaining the fitness of the bride to be a good wife.

Jamal had been translating again for her and had become, Zakir noted, somewhat protective of her. Which was a change from his previous suspicion. And
earlier she had sat on her cushion in front of Zakir as he’d presented her to the many different tribes of the Al-Shakhran desert, and this time there had been no gifts of dirt or copper coins. The coins near her cushion had been gold, mixed with jewelry and carvings of horses, all signs of respect.

Slowly but surely, it seemed his little one was winning people over.

As the buzz of conversation
rose around them, Felicity scooped up some hummus with a roll of the fresh flat bread the tribe’s women had made for the feast, eating it with some relish. Several of the chiefs had been watching her with approval—it was rude to refuse a tribe’s hospitality and food was part of that. Westerners were known to have delicate stomachs, but she hadn’t refused anything she’d been served, another point
in her favor.

He watched her, unable to tear his gaze from her.

That afternoon he’d promised her he’d let her go at the end of their time in the desert, and he wondered if perhaps he’d been a fool to do so. But after she’d told him about her parents, after he’d seen in her eyes the hurt they’d caused her no matter how she tried to pretend otherwise, he knew he couldn’t hurt her as they had.
Which meant he would have to compromise. It didn’t come naturally to him and he’d never done it well, but he’d sworn to himself he’d look after her. That he wouldn’t cause her hurt. And she deserved better than to have her feelings run roughshod over.

If she didn’t want to stay, he wouldn’t force her.

But he would try his hardest to make her want to.

Felicity laughed as Jamal translated something
the chief next to her had said, her eyes brilliant and her cheeks flushed. Her gaze caught Zakir’s then and her smile turned into something else, heat glittering in the gray depths.

And he felt the beast inside him rattle the bars of his cage again, his body tightening almost painfully.

He’d thought distance would be better for them both earlier, but not now. If he was going to convince her
to stay, he needed to use every weapon in his arsenal, no matter the cost to his precious control. If he wanted to take the city, he had to plan for a siege.

He let the feast go on for another hour before he announced that his bride needed her rest and so he’d be taking her back to their camp.

Leaving so early was at the limits of politeness, but he’d made it known she was recovering from heat
exhaustion so no one made a comment as he excused themselves, pulling her up behind him on his horse.

“I thought we’d be staying longer,” she murmured, her arms sliding around his waist, her hands resting on his stomach, making every muscle he had tighten in response.

“We should,” he said shortly. “But you need to be in bed.”

“I’m not tired. I got some sleep this afternoon.” She leaned against
him, her heat pressing into his back. He found it maddening.

“I did not say you would be sleeping.”

Zakir didn’t wait for her response, urging the horse into a gallop, racing over the sands, back toward the camp.

It seemed to take far longer to get back than it had to leave, and the feel of her at his back made every minute stretch out torturously.

By the time he’d pulled up in front of his
own tent and dismounted, he was hard enough not to care about whether or not it was appropriate to pull his intended inside. He was the king anyway; he could do what he liked.

After he’d thrown the reins to the groom who’d immediately appeared as they entered the camp, Zakir reached up to Felicity and lifted her off the horse, allowing her to slide a little against his body as he lowered her
down to the sand.

A foolish move to tantalize himself when his control was so thin. If he was going to use this particular weapon, he needed to be more cautious.

Her eyes widened, her hands coming to rest on his chest to steady herself. She was all in white silk and suddenly he wanted to tear it off her, rip it to pieces, bind her to his bed so she could never leave.

You cannot. You made her
a promise.

“When you said not sleeping, you meant…” She trailed off, her voice husky.

He wanted to slide his hands over her buttocks, bring her hard against him right here and now, but there were guards around. It didn’t worry him—they would be blind and deaf if he asked them—yet it would concern her, so all he did was release her and step back. “You may go to your own tent if you wish,” he
said, unable to keep the heat from his voice. “Or you may stay in mine.”

She gave him a searching look and he had to resist the urge to grab her, throw her over his shoulder, and march into his tent with her anyway. But that was not the way to win her. That was not the way to mount this particular attack and strategy had always been his forte.

Perhaps she knew, because her gaze went to his hands
that had somehow clenched themselves into fists at his sides and stayed there for a long moment.

“I think I’d like to see your tent,” she said quietly.

And without another word, she turned and walked through the entrance.

The relief was a wave flooding through him. Yes, she’d chosen this. For tonight she’d chosen him and he’d make sure she didn’t regret it.

He followed her, closing the tent
flap securely behind him.

She’d stopped in the middle of the tent, staring around her, a look of surprise on her face.

No wonder. His tent was not like hers. It was smaller for a start and he had no carpets on the floors or low couches or pillows. The only luxury he allowed himself was the big bed for sleeping and the functional desk he worked at. He was a soldier after all; he didn’t need anything
more.