Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) (35 page)

Seeing that Maysa has removed all my other clothes, unless I’m going to sleep with a towel wrapped around me, I have no option other than to put on the sheer robe. With shaking hands, I dress and lie down on the bed to wait. I can’t sleep. My fists clench, my body is as taut as a bowstring. I’m anxious and sweating and scared. I’m completely at the mercy of Arabs in a foreign land. I’m incarcerated in the harem, dressed for sex, and with absolutely no idea with whom.

Nijad

Fourteen days since I left Cara alone in the harem. Three hundred and thirty-six hours spent battling with emotions that fluctuate from intense anger to utter despair. I have driven my men hard, too hard. We routed a number of jihadists trying to cross the border, and I led an attack on them with such violence it shocked my senior officers, making sure none of the invaders were left alive. I wake each day angry, go to bed still raging, and then spend sleepless nights as thoughts of Cara fill my head. I miss her with a desperation that verges on insanity.

I no longer know where I should direct my wrath. At the betrayal of the woman who’s come to mean so much to me in such a short time, or at myself for letting her go? I want to scoop her up from the harem, take her away, tear up the contract and disappear into a European country where she would no longer be in danger – until I remind myself the greatest danger to her is me. What other secrets is she hiding from me? Would my rage destroy her, maim or even kill her? I have to keep her apart from me to protect her, but that fucking contract means I can’t stay away for ever, and today I had word from the palace it’s time. Maysa’s been keeping track. So tonight I have returned.

I sit still in the sultan’s peephole. In centuries past, the ruler would sit here and spy on his concubines below, choosing one to be brought to him that night. From this vantage point, I can see into all the cubicles, most old and decaying almost as I watch. All except the one directly below me, where I can see Cara, lying still on the bed. Caught in a sliver of moonlight, the robe Maysa provided her with hides nothing from me. From this view, she might as well be entirely naked. My gut clenches in anticipation and blood rushes south as my cock hardens in readiness, pressing uncomfortably against the zip of my jeans. My breathing quickens, and I’m thrown back into the past, into the role of sultan where I would be instructing the eunuchs to have my selected concubine prepared and brought to me. My fantasy continues as my favourite, proud to have been chosen to warm her master’s bed, would come willingly, eager to serve her sultan. The vision fades as I wipe my hand over my face. Tonight, I’m simply a prince. There are no eunuchs, my choice is limited to one, and I have my doubts she’ll be eager to come into my arms!

My cock might be ready and willing, but the rest of me holds back. I don’t know the woman lying below me at all. I’ve seen the evidence against her. After my initial reaction, once I’d calmed down, I went through the documents again, line by fucking line by line trying to spot any mistake, just one that might have suggested her innocence. But the proof was indisputable, Basheer’s accusations substantiated. She could offer no defence; there’s no room for doubt. She’s a thief, just like her father. As the saying goes, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. But that doesn’t stop the voice inside me from whispering that this is the woman who’s stolen my heart. The pain makes me wish she’d taken my life instead.

Irritated, I force myself to concentrate on the reason I am here. I’m here to do my duty and try to survive with my emotions intact. I know exactly what I have to do, and she will be mine, whether willing or not. There can be no mercy; she’s made fools of us all. Drawing back my shoulders I stand, straightening my stance as though it will strengthen my resolve. Narrowing my eyes, I glare at the almost naked body lying in the room below and banish my inner yearnings by summoning up the rage which has driven me over the past few weeks. Forbidding myself to feel any fucking weakness, I descend the secret stairs which lead into the harem.

Cara

It’s been hours since I lay down on the bed and with the passing of time I start to relax. Perhaps tonight’s attire wasn’t a signal of anything at all. Just a lavish joke played on me by Maysa, the one human being who currently has control over my life. My tension and fear recede and my eyes close. I’m not exactly asleep, but my mind is drifting away; in that space where thoughts flit without any real control, half
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thinking, half
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dreaming, and so it’s easy to believe it’s just my imagination when I have the sense of a presence standing by my bed. The feeling grows. Can I hear someone breathing? Sucking in a breath of my own I open my eyes. With a start, I realise the shape is real. Abruptly, I come swiftly to full consciousness, understanding this isn’t a dream. Someone has come to me. Fear rushes through me, causing my heart to beat at twice its normal rate. The silhouette is of a man and I reach out a shaking hand to switch on the bedside light, half
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dreading who I might see there. I hope, oh God, do I hope … but I still can’t quite believe it when the dim light confirms my innermost desires. There he stands. Nijad. The release of fear coupled with my exhilaration makes my heart feel as though it stops, and then it starts beating again, the palpitation causing me to gasp.

Why is he here? Has he come to listen to me, to hear me out? I want to hate him for abandoning me here but know I’ll forgive him if he’s come to give me the chance to explain. Is he here to take me away? To the desert city or the primitive desert camp? I don’t care where we go as long as it’s anywhere but here and as long as I am with him. I open my mouth to say something, but it’s gone so dry, my tongue seems stuck to my teeth and I can’t speak.

He is standing at the foot of the bed, watching me. I draw in more air sharply as my eyes drink him in, and lick my cracked lips. He looks extraordinary. He is wearing those tight black jeans which fit his body like a second skin, and the same tight T-shirt that he wore when he tortured me so sensually in his dungeon, the material hugging his abs and stomach and framing his muscular arms. He looks dark and dangerous, a Dominant and Master. Familiar, yet not. His face is stern, hard and unyielding, and I notice a new angry scar running down his cheek. But it
is
Nijad, my desert warrior. He’s here. He’s come to me. It’s no illusion or warped fantasy, or hallucination arising out of loneliness. Slowly I rise, turning my body, putting my feet over the side of the bed so I can stand up, ignoring the flimsiness of the gown I’m wearing. He’s my husband and I’ve no false modesty. He’s seen me naked too often. I take a step towards him, automatically reaching out my arms to touch him.

He gives a sharp shake of his head, stopping me in my tracks. As he stares at me, I falter. Crease lines are evident around his hooded eyes and his expression is cruel as he examines me from head to toe, making me shudder. Suddenly I’m not sure I know the man standing in front of me at all. After he completes his inspection, his arms extend towards me. For a split second I think he’s reaching to pull me close. Then, without warning, he puts both hands on the neckline of my gown and roughly tears it from me, ripping it to the hem. Forcefully he pushes the ruined garment off my shoulders so it falls to the floor, leaving me completely exposed in front of him.

Shocked, I open my mouth and start to protest, my voice hoarse.

“Nijad, we must talk. I must tell …”

“Shut up! I’m not here to fucking talk.” His hands grab my shoulders and he shakes me. “Not one more word. Do you understand?”

He waits for my response, but I can only gasp. This man, who looks so familiar yet acts like someone I’ve never met, is frightening me.

“Do. You. Understand?” he repeats.

I swallow, and then nod, not daring to disobey while he is in this mood. I haven’t seen this side of him before, and it frightens me.

Relaxing his hold he brings his arms down the sides of my breasts and, with a gentler touch, weighs them in his hands. His thumbs brush against my nipples, making them harden. All the time he is watching my eyes.

“I’m not a monster, Cara, but there’s only one reason I’m here.” He toys with my nipples, and then closes the gap between us and sucks first on one then the other.

“I’m not a brute. I want you ready. I don’t want to hurt you.” His mouth twists. “But I will take you. Do not fight me.”

I have no intention of fighting. Just his first touch has reminded me how much I’ve missed his caress, and there’s nothing more I want but to be loved by him again. I’ll take anything he wants to give me, just for the chance to be close to him. If he doesn’t wish to hear the words, our bodies can do the talking. As his hands trace my skin, touching everywhere; my now even slimmer waist, and round to cup my bottom. I wonder if he notices the weight I have lost, the physical evidence of how being apart from him is slowly killing me. He’s studying me intently, watching my reactions. I gasp when he reaches the heart of me and touches my opening. I don’t need to hear his sigh of satisfaction to know that despite the circumstances, I’m already wet and ready for him.

I was expecting him to be gentle, to want this loving connection between us as much as I do, but having found I’m already prepared his eyes darken, and his features take on the countenance of his desert ancestry. With a start I realise he has no compassion, no forgiveness. It’s as if he has no emotion in him at all as he roughly pushes me down on the bed and unbuttons his fly. He doesn’t bother to remove his jeans, just takes out his already engorged and ready cock and covers my body with his. I wait for his kiss, but with a cold glance at my face, he pulls back on to his heels. With a complete lack of finesse, he opens my legs and pulls up my hips over his thighs so he has positioned how he needs me. Then, after a deep breath, he enters me in one long stroke, causing me to gasp. He’s so big, and I’m tight as we’ve been apart for so long, and this position allows him deeper penetration. But my desire has readied me so it doesn’t hurt as much as shock me. He’s never been so forceful with me before and I know my eyes hold a touch of nervousness as he glances at me; he recognises it and reacts to my concern as he waits, giving me time to adjust to his size. But that short moment uses up all his patience, and he begins to move. He pulls out and pushes in, repeating his action, thrusting again and again, hammering into me, pounding. Before, our lovemaking had been gentle and controlled compared to this. This coupling is animalistic. I feel my muscles clenching. It’s unexpected and he’s unnerving me. As if I’m being driven only by his will, my body starts moving with his, meeting his, pushing back at him as he drives in like a savage beast. He hits the sweet spot inside me over and over and I can feel myself tightening as he takes me with him, as though we both want to leave the civilised world behind, to give everything up, to just feel. I’m splitting apart with an intensity that frightens me.

Almost at once he goes rigid, the involuntary contractions of my muscles pushing him to his release, and he repeatedly pumps for moments as he empties himself, and I feel myself milking him as he stills. Leaning back on his heels, he pulls out and moves off of the bed. As his essence leaks out of me, I watch him coldly tucking away his cock, still coated with my juices, and refastening his fly. I realise we haven’t just made love. He just fucked me, pure and simple.

I’m still unable to move when I notice him watching me, wearing a detached expression.

“This is how it will be,” he tells me, his voice carrying no emotion. “I’ll visit you during your fertile times.”

My heart is still trying to get back to a normal rhythm after the intensity of the last few minutes, and although I hear him speak it takes a moment to process his harsh, uncaring words. I’ve been used. My temper rises fast. Pulling myself to my knees, I start to punch his chest with my hands.

“Like fuck you will! You can’t do this to me!” I shout at him. “You can’t keep me here!”

He grabs both my hands and easily holds me away from him. “You prefer prison?” he asks harshly.

“I prefer that you fucking listen to me and let me explain!” I cry out, trying to wrest my hands from his tight grip.

His look is callous as he answers in a deceptively quiet voice. “You had your chance. You could have told me everything. I would have protected you.” He pauses, and then continues ruthlessly, “You didn’t trust me. It’s too late now; I won’t listen to anything you have to say. I can’t believe you. You’ve got exactly what you deserve. You’ll serve the term of the contract here in the harem.”

When he drops his hands I fly at him again, my nails raking down his chest. I don’t care that I break the skin, leaving beaded drops of red blood behind. I’ll do anything to get him to hear me out. “Goddammit! Listen to me, Nijad! It’s not what you think!”

With a violent shove, he pushes me back down on to the bed.

“Stay!” he thunders, his voice blasting through the harem. I shrink back. For the first time since I met him I’m think he might hurt me. He takes a deep breath, runs his hand through his hair as he looks at me one last time. Then, without a word, he turns and leaves.

I crumble, curling myself into a ball, and weep. ‘Five years’. Does he mean I’m to stay here for five years? Desolation rolls over me, unable to reconcile the cruel man who’s just fucked me with the man I married and have come to love.

Cara