Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) (50 page)

I smile, pleased that his friend has come after all. “Did it go well?”

Nijad looks around, gathering his thoughts.

“He’s weighed down with guilt that he let me down. That he believed the worst of me. He still can’t forgive himself for making that error of judgement.”

I touch his face, letting my compassion and sympathy transmit itself through my touch. “He’ll come round, Nijad. He just needs time.”

“I hope so. I need my blood brother.” He makes a rapid change of subject and seems to snap out of the black mood he’d momentarily dropped into. “We can escape now.” He sniggers. “Now I get you all to myself, to do with you exactly what I want. Are you ready to take all of me, Princess?”

I giggle, not afraid at all. I don’t hesitate in taking his hand and fleeing our wedding reception. We head through the palace, laughing like kids, neither of us quite sure what we’re laughing at. We are spending our wedding night in the ancient harem: my suggestion. It’s the place where our baby was conceived, and where Nijad proposed. A very special place for us.

As we race through the corridors, impatient to get to our destination, I’m amused the guards don’t try to keep up with us. Instead, they seem to be in radio communication with each other, and as we pass they step out of their vestibules to bow to us, making their presence known to assure us we are under their protection. Although I don’t want to think any bleak thoughts today, I know there’s been a worry Abdul-Mushi might have tried to upset our wedding day. But in the event, it’s all gone smoothly. I smile at the guards. Most of them are stoic, but a few crack grins at our undisguised rush, and a couple, brought in to help from the palace at Z̧almā, even throw ribald comments at Nijad, making him laugh.

But finally, we reach our destination and we’re through the golden doors, shutting them behind us with their characteristic clang as we enter into our own private nirvana. Nijad stops and turns to me.

“Strip.”

Every. Bloody. Time. This time, I’m not giving in.

“No.”

“No?” he growls questioningly, his eyebrow raised in shock.

“No.”

“You’re refusing your husband?”

At my nod, his mouth drops open and he prowls closer. I take a step back, holding up my hands as though to fend him off. He’s half-glaring, half-laughing, apparently not sure how to read my rebuttal. I decide to put him at ease.

“Look, it took three bloody women to get me into this dress. I can’t take it off without help even if I wanted to!”

He draws nearer, reaching into his belt and withdrawing his scimitar. It’s long, curved and scary-looking. I back away.

“I have a knife.” He smirks. “A bit over the top, but it will do.”

“You’re not coming near me with that!” I put my hands protectively over my dress. “Knickers are one thing, but this dress is worth a bloody fortune.”

He continues to stalk me. I hold up my hands again to stop him. “And hang on a minute, what about the bride price?”

He stops; his expression is unreadable.

“I paid back the bride price to get out of the original marriage contract. Now I’m married to you again, so what do I get out of it?” I pretend to be affronted. “Shouldn’t there be another bride price paid to me? Isn’t that the way things work here? That the bride is given money on her wedding day?”

Putting my hands on my hips, I give the impression I’m not going to give in to any demands until we get this matter sorted.

I’m not going to keep him waiting long; I’m too aroused myself for that, but I’m surprised when he puts his head back and gives a belly laugh, almost doubling over in his amusement. He covers the distance between us, and rests his hands on my shoulders.

“How much do you think those diamonds in your dress are worth, Cara, sweetheart?”

I look down at myself and shake my head. “A lot?”

He inches closer until he’s within touching distance, and runs his fingers across the neckline of my sparkly dress. “Have a guess.”

I draw in a breath. He can’t mean…

He nods, his mouth open in a wry smile. “I think you’re getting there. Come on, take a guess.”

My mouth is dry. “Ten million pounds?”

He nods slowly. “Ten million and five to be exact. I had to overspend.” At my look of consternation, he nods again. “That’s your bride price, Cara. And it’s all yours.”

I’m speechless, and unable to make any further protest as he walks behind me. I feel cold steel against my back and freeze as I feel it move down, a faint snip audible while my dress slowly loosens as he cuts through each of the ties holding it together. As the final one breaks, the dress pools at my feet. I look down at the fortune lying discarded on the floor. Ten million pounds!

He moves to the front and I realise the fancy bra and pants combination I’d purposely chosen, and spent a fortune on, is not going to last long. I breathe in deeply as the sharp blade makes short work of the bra, and step back as the scimitar travels down my stomach. He advances again, his face expressionless as he lowers it to the elastic of my knickers. I can’t let out my breath, not wanting to disturb his concentration, but he proves he is just as expert with this steel as he is with his other tool, the one I can see straining at his trousers.

“I think we’ll leave these on.” He indicates my suspenders and stockings. “And those.” He points to my high-heeled shoes. To my relief, he puts his blade away. Crowding me, he pats me down, his hands going inside my knickers.

“You’ve brought no knife to our wedding today, sweetheart?” He grins.

I shiver, unable to form words to answer him as his fingers move against my very wet and ready pussy, flicking against my clit.

“I need you. I need you now, hard and fast.”

“Yes.” It’s all I can do to manage a gasp. Almost since the women prepared me this morning, I’ve been wet and needy for him. I want him now at least as much as he needs me.

He pushes me across the room until I’m standing with my back against the cold stone of the harem wall. “I’ve been fucking rock-hard all day, sweetheart. I need to be inside you now; I can’t be gentle.”

“Don’t be.”

It’s the answer he wants. His arms hold me to him, my back pressed against the wall. “Put your legs around me.”

I do as he says, and it puts his cock exactly in the right place. He’s so hard, all he has to do is push forward and, like a homing missile, I feel the head at my entrance. He takes a deep breath as if trying to control himself. I wriggle my hips in encouragement.

“Fuck, Cara. I can’t hold on.”

He plunges inside, his thick, wide girth stretching me, his full length touching my cervix. It’s rough; it’s exactly how I need it. I feel so full it’s on the verge of painful. Suddenly it hits me: this is my husband. The man who married me of his own free will, the man I would have chosen over all others in the world. The man of my dreams and the father of my unborn child. As he starts to move, pounding in and out, his urgency matching mine, I feel an orgasm building and building. I can’t hold back; I shatter with a piercing scream, the pulsation and contractions of my muscles pushing him to his release. I can feel him spurting inside me, jet after jet of hot cum filling me. The tears come to my eyes and I start to cry.

“Cara, Cara, sweetheart. I’ve hurt you.” He’s concerned.

I rush to reassure him, my hand stroking his face.

“No, my love, my husband. You didn’t. I’m so very, very happy. So happy, I can’t help crying.”

Gently he pulls out of me and lets my legs drop to the floor. He keeps me secure until I can take my weight, my legs trembling from our exertions. I can feel our combined juices dripping down my legs. I sob, loudly, unable to stop. His arms envelop me, and he holds me so tight. When I look into his face he, too, has tears in his eyes.

“I love you, my Cara, my sheikha, my wife.”

“I love you too, Nijad, my sheikh, my husband.”

He leads me to the bed and helps me lie down. I’m so tired it’s difficult to keep my eyes open. I feel the warmth of his body surrounding me.

“You truly are happy?” His hand wipes away the tears that I can’t seem to stop falling.

“You know I am.” I lift my head and lean over, touching my lips to his. I’m not a kidnapped bride, and neither of us has been forced into this marriage. I have earned a place in his country, and know I have a place in his heart. I’m home.

Two lost souls come together. Two people who’d had their lives stolen from them, finding a new life together. Yes, I’m happy. I could never be happier.

Jon

In my line of work making a mistake could mean someone ends up dead, or, as so recently happened, in exile for a crime they didn’t do.

I knew from the start that I shouldn’t have assigned myself to provide personal protection for the woman who’s being stalked, but as soon as I met Mia, something about her called to me, and I wasn’t about to let anyone else get close to her. But I was selfish. I failed, again. And yet again, someone else paid the price for my failure.

I’m a Dom; I should have known better.

Mia

For seven years I’ve been dead inside. Oh, I’ve been breathing air and walking around just like anyone else, and I’m able to fulfil my dream as an erotic fiction writer: but something was missing, I just didn’t know what.

And now someone’s stalking me, threatening me which brings
him
into my life. Not just any man, but a Dom, and he’s become my protector. He makes me feel things I never believed I could ever feel. But the deeper I fall for him, the more he pulls away. When shit hits the fan, he blames himself and pulls away, and I lose the first and only man I could ever love.

But I’m going to get him back.

Blood Brothers #2: Close Protection

Thanks must go to my beta readers, Kirsten, and
Christy
who helped me get the plot in shape and gave me the encouragement to continue, and I’m very grateful for the in-depth beta read and tremendously useful report and comments from Kate Marope of
The Ribbon Marker Editorial Services
.

Cover design and formatting by
Free Your Words
. Lia, it was great working with you!

Editing by
Betterwrite.com
. Thanks Rob and Nikki.

Finally thanks to my husband for letting me have the freedom to write, and to my wonderful son who didn’t seem to get bored when he listened to my ideas.

And of course, I’m grateful to everyone who’s taken the time to read
Stolen Lives.
If you enjoyed it, please leave a review.

After commuting for too many years to London working in various senior management roles, Manda Mellett left the rat race and now fulfils her dream and writes full time. She draws on her background in psychology, the experience of working in different disciplines and personal life experiences in her books.

Manda lives in the beautiful countryside of North Essex with her husband and two slightly nutty Irish Setters. Walking her dogs gives her the thinking time to come up with plots for her novels, and she often dictates ideas onto her phone on the move, while looking over her shoulder hoping no one is around to listen to her. Manda’s other main hobby is reading, and she devours as many books as she can.