Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) (46 page)

Now I’ve got time to sit, to get my breath back and to practise a poker face so I can keep it together when Nijad tells me there’s no longer any reason for our marriage, and he doesn’t want me as his wife. Much better just the two of us. I don’t want an audience for that.

But it seems I don’t have time to practise. Within minutes of my arrival at the harem, the great doors clang open, and heavy footsteps herald someone else’s arrival. I rise to my feet and turn slowly, unsure who would have come looking for me. With mixed emotions of delight and fear, I watch as Nijad takes a step further into the great room.

I didn’t believe he’d come looking for me. I’d no idea he’d have a clue where to find me. Hell, coming to the harem hadn’t even been a conscious decision for me. As he strides purposefully through the golden doors, I have the overwhelming feeling that this meeting, in this place, is inevitable.

A shuttered expression is on his face; it’s unreadable. He’s walking with a pronounced limp, the scars on his face healed, still red and angry-looking, but doing nothing to detract from his otherwise handsome features. How could I ever have imagined I could call this man ‘husband’. I tremble, dreading the words he’s going to use to let me down. I watch in silence as he comes closer, wincing as he visibly favours his left leg. But he seems to shrug off the pain as he walks across the room, shedding his robe, which falls to the ground, and throwing his headdress down on a nearby chair. Underneath he is wearing those tight-fitting black jeans which emphasise the width of his thighs and the tightness of his arse, sending shivers down my spine. His customary black T-shirt is tight around his torso, and his feet are still in his desert boots. Dominance rolls off him as he approaches.

He stares at me until I’m forced to lower my gaze. I can still feel his eyes burning into me. What is he seeing? The wife he wants to liberate himself from? He must be here to ask me to void the contract. I can’t look at him; I’m too scared of what I might see in his face. And I’m too afraid to talk to him, too afraid of what his words might be.

He breaks the silence first, barking out just one word. It’s an order.

“Strip!” His voice trembles.

I’d anticipated the conversation I’d been dreading. His words catch me unawares.
What’s he asking me?
My incomprehension must show on my face because he expands on his instruction, as though I’m a child.

“Take … Your … Clothes … Off.”

I glance up. His eyes remain fixed on mine, compelling me to obey, to submit to his will.

Dread flows through me as I look down at myself. I’m wearing traditional robes, out of courtesy to the emir and because it seems an appropriate way to welcome my desert prince. Has he decided that, as I’m no longer the wife he wants, I’m no longer fit to wear the clothing native to his land? My eyes fill with tears. The way he’s looking at me, the way he’s holding himself – he’s unapproachable. I can’t even bring myself to question why he’s asking me to do this. I’ll learn my fate soon enough; no need to rush it along. I’ll hold on to the dream just a little while longer.

Under his intimidating stare, my hands go to the fastenings on my thobe. Removing it, I let the tunic drop to the floor. Bowing my head, no longer able to meet his eyes, I loosen my silk trousers and let them fall. I’m standing in the fancy underwear I put on today, selected only for my husband to see.

After a period of silence, I glance up to see that he is not completely unaffected by my hesitant striptease. He indicates what he wants with his hand.

“And the rest.”

If I can spark his desire … maybe that might be my one chance to keep him. Only a few weeks ago I would have faltered, or even flat-out refused. I would have been ashamed to expose my body to him. But a quick glance shows a definite bulge in his jeans revealing that, although he may no longer want me as his wife, I still have the power to arouse him. The knowledge gives me confidence. Slowly, oh-so slowly, I put my hands round my back and unclasp my lacy fire-engine-red bra. I slide one strap off my shoulders and then make a show of slipping down the other. The bra falls at my feet; my breasts drop free. Pregnancy has already changed my body, and they are heavier than they’ve ever been. I pull back my shoulders.

His eyes darken with desire. Has his plan to dismiss me backfired? Another wave of his hand and I, more confidently, reach to my matching thong. With a sureness gifted by his expression of desire, I pull down the narrow strip of material, lifting one leg and then the other as gracefully as I can.

For a short time, he says and does nothing. I try to hold myself still, but it’s hard not to fidget under his intense scrutiny and I cross my arms over my chest, no longer wanting to be so exposed to him. I bow my head, wishing he would stop procrastinating. Haven’t I been punished enough? Does he still hold my crimes against me, even though everyone else has forgiven me? I wish he would get on with it and just tell me to get out of his life, if that’s what has to happen.

But a small kernel of hope flickers inside me as I see him clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides; he’s trying hard to stay in control. Perhaps he still wants me! My hopes begin to rise but, then, after what seems like an eternity, he moves forward, bringing his feet into range of my downcast eyes, and his next action plunges me into despair. I hear a tearing sound, and pieces of paper flutter down around me. I can’t fail to recognise the official document. He’s torn up our marriage contract. I expected it. I knew it would happen. But I’m still not prepared for the intense pain that slices through my heart, a wound from which I know I’ll never recover. The hurt wrenches a sob from me. It’s over. He isn’t going to forgive me.

“Sheikha.”

The rushing in my ears prevents me from hearing him as he starts to speak. He tries again, his voice soft as a caress, but loud enough to make sure he’s got my attention.

“Cara. You are the most beautiful woman that I have ever seen. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you. I wanted to nurture you, to protect you. To see the woman I knew was hiding inside break free of the chains that bound you. As you grew, so did my love for you. Put your arms at your sides.”

I can’t understand why he’s saying all this. Why can’t he just get it over and done with? And then I realise he’s given me another instruction and I comply, revealing myself once again.

“You are standing here, with nowhere to hide. I see all of you. You are hiding nothing from me. You are beautiful.”

His glorious melodic voice is washing over me, and I try hard to comprehend what he means. It is so far from what I had expected, but so close to my greatest hopes, I feel myself going weak. I start shaking.

“I don’t want to be bound to you because of a contract,” he continues. “I don’t want conditions or a time limit on our relationship. I want you, by my side, in my life for ever. I want to raise our child with you, and other children to come, whether we have sons or just a brood of daughters. Each will be valued, as they will be a result of our union. I want to return to you the same love, trust and commitment you’ve shown to me, every day of the rest of our lives, and beyond, into the after-life.” He starts to lower himself to the floor, a little awkwardly due to the stiffness in his left leg, but then he’s kneeling in front of me, taking my right hand in his. I look down at him on the floor by my feet, hardly daring to hope...

“Cara, will you marry me?”

I remember that I need to breathe. I take one deep breath, and then another, his words echoing round my head. Did he offer me marriage? Am I hallucinating? Nijad, this handsome, virile man who is free to marry anyone he chooses, to live wherever he wants. His past and his future have been given back to him. All my self-doubt comes rushing back to me. I’m not good enough for him.

“You don’t need to be grateful, Nijad. You don’t owe me.”

Although the words he has spoken are more than I’d hoped to hear, I can’t bring myself to believe he wants to be with me.

He rocks back on his heels. “Still no confidence, you beautiful, wonderful woman who has the power to drive me insane? I’m asking you to marry me, for fuck’s sake. Of my own free will. Because it is the thing I desire most in the world. Before, I had nothing to offer you before, only the threat of hurt and pain. But now, now I want you as my wife.” He looks up at me, a grin starting, transforming his features, wiping away the sternness.

“We’ve obviously been apart too long.” His voice deepens, the voice of a Dominant. “Let me rephrase it. You
are
going to marry me.”

The command in his voice sends an arrow of desire straight down between my legs, and his arrogance brings forth a small laugh as, at last, I start to believe him. I fall to my knees, my hands reaching out tentatively to touch him, this man I thought I’d never feel again.

“Nijad – I love you so much!” I add shyly, “Of course I’ll marry you!”

Pulling me to him, his mouth crushes down on mine, demanding I open for him, his tongue sweeping inside. A Dominant’s kiss, his hand moving to the back of my head, he holds me to him, preventing the escape I have no intention of making. The taste of him fills me, sparking memories, igniting arousal, and immediately I’m wet for him, only for him.

When he lets me go he stands, his strong arms hauling me to my feet. Our chests mirror each other, heaving as we try to get our breath back. Then, in one smooth movement, he lifts me into his arms and carries me to the bed, his leg not seeming to notice the extra weight as he manoeuvres us until he’s sitting down on the edge with me on his lap.

“I want nothing more than to sink deep inside you, Cara.”

I nuzzle close to him, caring for nothing other than that he’s asked me to marry him. His hand traces my face then stills, his palm cupping my cheek. He leans forward, kisses me gently, and then pulls back. His eyes grow darker, and when he speaks his voice oozes dominance.

“Right now, I don’t know whether to fuck you or spank you. After everything I said to you, you doubted me.” His voice is full of authority and that alone starts a tingling, as though my blood is bubbling in my veins. “You doubted my love for you. You thought now I was free I’d want somebody else. You thought you wouldn’t be good enough for me.” He can read me like a book.

“I told you I’d spank you, Cara, if you ever doubted yourself again. We’ve been apart, but not for one moment have I stopped loving you or wanting you. Only you. There’s never been anyone else like you. Never been anyone who believed in me so much. My family, my best friend who’s like a brother to me, all accepted the evidence without question. But not you. You set me free. From this point on you will trust me totally. You will keep no secrets. I never, ever want to feel the fucking pain I felt when I found you had kept things from me. When I couldn’t be near you. Never, Cara. I never want to go through that amount of hurt again. I couldn’t survive it.”

Tears begin to fall from my eyes as the pain in his voice gets to me. I’m crying for the pain I’ve caused him, for the pain I’ve caused us. I’m sobbing, sobbing as though my heart will break.

“My life was stolen from me, but you gave it back.” His hand is now rubbing my thighs, my stomach. “I love you, Cara. Let’s start living our lives as they were meant to be, from this moment on.”

As his palms circle over my skin, the heat is spreading throughout my body. His words calm me, fill me with hope, and my tears start drying on my cheeks. “I told you I’d spank you, Cara, but you’ve escaped that for now. I can’t punish a pregnant woman.” Turning me to face him, he looks deeply into my eyes. “But when the baby’s born…”

I look up to see his eyes glittering with mirth and something else: joy. His words make me giggle, and I run my hand over his face, feeling over long beard, knowing he hasn’t even bothered to shave in his rush to come to me.

“It’s over, Cara. Whatever’s happened in the past is gone. It’s forgiven. Forgotten. There was and can never be another woman for me, and I promise to spend the rest of my years proving to you that I’m the man you can trust.”

My butt is resting on his jean-clad legs. As he speaks I realise my sobs have cleansed me, his words having taken all the doubt away. I start to feel a glow spread through my body; my arousal causes me to fidget, my dampness soaking into the material of his jeans, but I don’t care, and neither, does it seem, does he. The anguish I felt when I doubted his love for me quickly fades into insignificance as his lips come over mine once again.

“Open for me.” His tongue sweeps into my mouth, dancing with mine. It is a deeply intimate kiss, less violent and hungry, full of love, and I feel the sense of completeness and of finally coming home.

As our tastes mingle, it’s as though a switch has been thrown. Suddenly there’s a new urgency as our mouths clash and mould together. His tongue pushes and probes, mimicking a different action. My lips are already swollen and sore, but I can’t get enough of him. He tastes faintly of coffee, but mostly of him, the flavour I never thought I’d know again. Frantically, I start to pluck at his T-shirt, my hands pulling at the material, wanting him as naked as I am, but he’s the one in control. He pushes me away, lifts me up into the air, hugging me close, and then lays me down reverently upon the bed. His body comes over mine. Taking my hands he imprisons them in one of his, holding them above my head, as he starts kissing his way down my body. He spends time sucking my nipples, tweaking and rolling them between his fingers, causing spikes of sensation to travel straight down, as though there is an invisible connection. He releases my hands but I continue to keep them in place, restrained now by his will. With one hand toying with my breasts, he balances himself on the other; his absence causes a brief chill before the heat in his gaze warms me. Staring at my body, he leans down, putting his lips to my stomach. Putting his cheek against me, he murmurs in a voice filled with emotion, “My baby.” He sounds in awe. “You’re carrying my baby, Cara.” Pulling himself upright he studies me. “Your breasts are bigger.” Leaning over, he sucks a nipple in his mouth, biting down gently.