Never Resist a Sheikh (International Bad Boys) (21 page)

His gaze was searching, as if looking for signs she was lying. “I did not hurt you?”

“No.” She smiled. “That was the most amazing experience of my life.”

“Your wrists—”

“Zakir.” She spread her fingers out on his chest. “I’m fine.” Then she pushed him back onto the bed, straddling him.

He let her do it without protest, watching her and she
could see the hunger kindling again in his eyes. It made her feel bold, powerful. Like she could do anything.

She looked down at the Arabic letters inked into his chest and did what she’d been dying to do from the moment she first saw it, traced them with her finger. “What does this mean?” His muscles tensed beneath her touch. “You didn’t tell me before.”

“It is a vow the kings of Al-Shakhra
take when we become king. It says ‘Before the people, only God’.”

“A vow of protection,” she murmured.

“Yes. That is what a king is for. To protect his people.” There was so much certainty in his voice and a kind of reverence, too, as if the words were sacred to him.

But no, there was no
as if
about it. They
were
sacred to him. He was a man who believed in his purpose. Believed in it deeply
enough that he’d do whatever he had to in order to help his country. Even kidnap a woman to be his queen.

She let her fingers rest against him, feeling the strength beneath the skin, the power. All that determination. He was enduring, solid.

I am possessive. Violent. I have…killed.

Maybe he had. But he was not cruel or a capricious with it. He was a man of strong passions with a very strong
will. A soldier. A king. He would fight for those he loved, for those he’d sworn to protect.

She pressed both palms him his chest, the strong, steady beat of his heart against her skin. “I want to touch you.”

“Felicity, I don’t—”

“Let me. Please, Zakir.”

His dark eyes held hers for a long moment and she thought he might refuse her. Then he said quietly, “Very well. But understand, my control
with you is very, very limited.”

She smiled, feeling relief go through her, not knowing how much she’d wanted him to say yes until now, letting her hands drift down his chest and over the hard corrugations of his abs. Then she bent over him, putting her lips to his chest, flicking her tongue out to taste him. Salt and a musky, spicy flavor that was all Zakir.

One warm hand was at her hip, holding
on tight. “Be careful, little one,” he murmured, deep and rough.

“Why?” She went a lower, licking one flat, male nipple. “Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?”

His intake of breath was a sharp hiss. “You know that is not what I’m afraid of.”

“You should be. I’m very fierce.” Feeling bold, she bit his nipple gently, and was rewarded when she felt all those beautiful muscles tense beneath her hands.

“You are. Too fierce. I am afraid I will have you on your back before you have had your chance to touch me as you want.”

Felicity grinned and pushed her hand farther down to where he was already hard and ready, circling him with her fingers. “In that case, perhaps it’s my turn to tie your hands.”

Something dark leapt in Zakir’s eyes and he smiled, the curve of his mouth promising all kinds of
wickedness. “You are more than welcome to try.”

So she did.

*     *     *

He only had
four days. Four days in which to convince one small, passionate American woman to stay with him. So he planned it as he would any military operation—precisely and with great attention to detail.

He took her to an oasis with a pool big enough for swimming the following
day, letting her bask in the cool water for as long as she wanted. Afterwards, in the shade of the awning his staff had brought along, he fed her a lunch of fruit, flat bread, roast chicken, and tomatoes, while she talked to him about her company. It had been clear from the beginning that it was important to her, yet only now did he begin to appreciate why. Red Star was to her as Al-Shakhra was
to him. It was her kingdom and she was its ruler, her employees her people. No wonder she was so upset with him when he’d taken her. No wonder she wanted to do all in her power to make sure of its success.

He would help her, he vowed to himself. He would make sure her company did not suffer from his actions.

Later, as night fell, he took her to the dunes to watch the sunset flame brilliant over
the sands, enjoying the feel of her as she leaned against him, exclaiming in wonder at the colors of the sky.

But once the night crept up on them, he took her back to camp, back into his tent where he would launch the other aspect of his siege. Pleasure. After that first night, he knew he couldn’t hold back when it came to her, and so he didn’t. Indulging himself and his desires as often as possible.
And it was so very, very good because what he wanted was also what she wanted.

What she’d told him was true. She was strong. She could take whatever he gave her and not only that, but she could give it back, too. It was intoxicating. It made him feel like perhaps she was right. That perhaps he didn’t need to be so concerned about being like Farid. Besides, it felt wrong to hold himself so rigidly
in control when she burned so fiercely, so passionately. He didn’t want to hold back because she deserved better than that. She deserved all the fierce passion he could give her.

And the more he gave her, the brighter she burned.

The next day they visited the tribes again, where she talked about her company and about the software she’d written. About how it could give them access to information
that could enrich their lives, from tracking their livestock to educating their children, to helping communications between the various tribes.

They were fascinated with her, Zakir observed. And no wonder. She spoke with such enthusiasm and passion and excitement. It was infectious. Afterwards, he found himself fielding many comments approving his choice of wife, which should have made him feel
satisfied.

But they didn’t. Because although he’d decided she would be his wife, she’d made no such decision. And he knew, deep down, that four days was not enough time to convince her to stay.

He didn’t give up, though.

The third day he took her for a long ride on his horse, flying across the sands, listening to her laughter in his ear, before setting up a bath for her outside as night descended.
In the brilliant light of the stars, he got in with her, washing her hair as she lay back in his arms, and it wasn’t laughter he heard this time, but sighs of satisfaction as he massaged the shampoo in, his fingers stroking and kneading her scalp.

He’d dismissed his guards long before and just as well, because she turned in his arms and pressed her hungry mouth to his throat, sensual as cat.
And he couldn’t resist her. He never could. He lifted her above him, sliding deep inside her, letting her move on him, her hands on his chest, her eyes glittering brighter than the stars above his head.

One more day. That’s all that was left.

And as she rose and fell on him, he didn’t know how he was going to keep his promise to her. He didn’t know how he was going to let her go.

The things
she could do for his country, for his people.

The things she could do for you…

She shattered around him, crying out in his ear, and he pulled out of her before he came, pressing himself against her soft belly, holding her close.

No, he couldn’t allow himself to think about what he wanted. This was about her, what she wanted. And he wasn’t going to force her; he was going to let her make her
own choice.

*     *     *

The last day
came and with it a farewell feast for the tribes.

Zakir sat at the head table, watching Felicity try out some of her fledgling Arabic on various different tribe members, much to their delight. They laughed at her mistakes and she laughed with them, charming them both with her good nature and her determination to learn.

It did not escape him that most of the people around her were men. And even though he knew no one would be stupid enough to offend the sheikh by flirting with his new bride, he couldn’t stop the anger that rose in him as they laughed with her, teased her.

It was jealousy, pure and simple, and he knew it.

The feeling made something icy cold turn over inside him.

As another burst of laughter
rose from Felicity’s admirers, Zakir knew he had to get out. He excused himself, striding to the entrance of the feast tent and stepping through it, letting the chill of the desert night calm him.

He moved away from the tent a little way, over to a stand of palms. Music and laughter drifted on the air from the feast. Most of the tribes were there, paying their respects and he knew he should go
back and join them.

But he didn’t think he could.

No, this wasn’t jealousy. His anger felt too wild, too raw for that. It was something more, a possessiveness, a want, that went farther and deeper than jealousy or envy ever could. He wanted to take Felicity and throw her over his shoulder, take her back to their camp and keep her there where no one could ever find her. Never let her go.

You
can’t. You promised.

He had promised. He just hoped when the time came he’d be able to keep it.

“Zakir?”

He turned.

There were electric lanterns strung up on poles, lighting the way, and Felicity was coming toward him, her formal robes of blue silk fluttering out behind her. She’d taken to wearing her hair loose and he loved it that way, copper and gold curls cascading from underneath her
blue veil, falling down over her shoulders.

“Why did you leave?” She stopped not far from him. “Is it time to go?”

“No, not yet. I had some business I needed to do.”

She gave a quick look around. “By yourself?”

He didn’t want her here all of a sudden. His hands itched to carry her off back to his tent and he knew that would be a bad idea. In fact, having her tonight at all would be a bad idea.

“Go back to the feast, little one,” he said, gently as he could. “Enjoy yourself.”

But there was a crease between her brows, the one that appeared whenever she was presented with a problem she wanted to solve. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”

“There is nothing wrong.”

“Yes, there is.” She paused, searching his face. “Is it because of tomorrow? Our last day?”

His chest tightened at the words.
There was no point denying it. “Perhaps. You will make your decision and I will abide by it.”

In the flickering lantern light, her gray eyes looked very dark. “You’re regretting it, aren’t you? You’re regretting giving me the choice.”

He couldn’t lie. “Yes, of course I am regretting it. But I promised you I would let you make it and so I will.”

She’d gone quite still, that sharp, perceptive
gaze of hers resting on him. “You…don’t want me to go?”

“Of course I do not want you to go. You already know that.”

“I do but…” A small hesitation. “Do
you
want me to stay?”

At first he didn’t quite understand her emphasis. “Yes, Felicity. I want you to stay. You saw the way the chiefs looked at you tonight. They approve of my choice of bride. And if they accept you, then my country will.”

“Ah.” Her voice was quiet. “Yes, I see.” She looked away from him, her jaw tight.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. I’ll go back to the feast then.”

And as she turned back to the tent, he realized. That small emphasis. Do
you
want me to stay? She wasn’t asking the king, she was asking the man.

The words almost came out.
Yes,
I
want you to stay.

But he closed his teeth on them. He couldn’t say them,
he couldn’t let them out. Because they were an admission that he felt something for her, and he wasn’t allowed to feel anything for her. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t let himself.

Anger. Jealousy. Possessiveness. Hunger. Already he’d felt too many of those things where she was concerned, already they were beginning to take root. And if he wasn’t careful, soon too would come the violence.

Then you
know what you have to do, don’t you?