The Sheikh's Jewel (11 page)

CHAPTER TEN

The next morning

S
O THIS
was what she’d waited so long to know…

Through the cracks in the curtains he’d pulled around the bed last night, the rising sun touched Harun’s sleeping face; his breathing was soft and even. Slowly Amber stretched, feeling a slight soreness inside her, but what they’d shared had been worth every discomfort.

He’d been right. With each touch, each kiss and intimate caress, the feeling went from wonderful to exquisite to an almost unbearable white light of beauty, until the ache inside her, the waiting and the wanting was intolerable, and she thrashed against him in wordless demand. And still he kept going, teasing her in kiss and touch until she’d pleaded with him to stop the sweet torture, and take her.

She was so ready for him that the pain was brief, a cry and a moment’s stiffening, and it was done; soon the ache was to know the joy again. She kissed him and moved her body so he moved inside her. He smiled and called her his jewel again, and the familiar endearment, one her parents had given her years ago, was so much more beautiful from his lips, with his body on hers, inside her.

They made love slowly, Harun giving her infinite tenderness and patience. The beauty built higher as she became ready for the next step, and he took her there. The joy became bliss, and then something like being scorched by the sun, and yet she couldn’t care, couldn’t fear it or want to stop. And just before she cried out with joyful completion, he whispered, ‘I can’t wait any more—Amber, Amber…’

He shuddered in climax almost at the same time she did. As he held her afterwards, he caressed her hair and whispered,
‘Mee habiba `arusa.’ My beloved bride.

She smiled and refused to give in to the temptation to ask if he meant it. The whispers in the women’s rooms the past few years told her that men could become tender, poetic even at these times, but could forget it in minutes.

They made love twice more in the night, once at her instigation. If she was awake, she couldn’t stop herself from touching him or kissing him.

Looking at him laying beside her now, his face almost boyish in sleep, his brown skin aglow in the light of sunrise, she felt her body begin the slow, heady tingling of arousal. Leaning into him, she kissed his chest, loving the taste of his skin. Unbearable to think of stopping now—she kissed him over and over, in warm, moist trails across his body.

His eyes were open now, and he was smiling at her. Her insides did that little flip at the relaxed, happy man who was finally her lover, and she was lost in wanting him. ‘Come here,’ he growled, and pulled her on top of him.

Laughing breathlessly, she whispered, ‘I’m sorry I woke you.’

Now the smile was a grin. ‘No, you’re not.’

She bit her lip over a smile. Was she a fool to feel so happy? Did she care? ‘No, I suppose I’m not sorry at all.’

‘So this is how it’s going to be, is it? I’ll be worn out by your constant demands?’ His twinkling eyes told her how much he hated the thought.

‘I’m sure you knew I was a little on the demanding side when you married me,’ she retorted, mock-haughty, but she moaned as his lips found better uses than teasing.

This time he taught her new things that pleased him, and she let him know what she loved, and it was beyond beauty, more than physical bliss. It was joy and peace. It was deep connection, communication without words. It was happiness so complete she couldn’t think of anything to match it.

She’d heard about the endless pleasure of making love, but never had she dreamed this act of creation could be so life-changing. It was far from just her body’s gratification; it was giving a part of herself, her trust, her inner self to Harun, and he gave himself to her.

She wondered if he felt the same, or whether it was this way every time he—

No, she wouldn’t think of his former lovers now. She couldn’t bear to think of him in this intimate position with another woman. She was his lover now, and he was hers. And she’d make sure it stayed that way.

‘Are you in pain at all?’ he asked as he held her afterwards.

‘A little,’ she admitted.

‘Stay there a minute.’ He got out of bed, and walked into the bathroom, wonderfully naked, and she couldn’t help staring at his body. Unable to believe that, because of an abduction of all things, she finally had him all to herself. And within two days, they’d become lovers.

Had the passion been there all along, simmering beneath the surface? What might have happened long ago had he not overheard her silly girl’s romantic dream of marrying a superstar? If she hadn’t overreacted to his coldness on their wedding night—a decision she knew now he’d made in a mixture of intense grief and betrayal—would they always have had this joy together?

The sound of running water was soon followed by a lovely scent, and she smiled when he came back into the room. Then the mere sight of him, unclad and open to her in a way he’d never been, made her insides go all mushy with longing. ‘Come.’ He lifted her into his arms with ease. How had she been so blind, never realising until now just how big and strong he was?

He placed her in the bath, which was hotter than she normally liked it, and she squealed, and squirmed.

‘The heat will help with the discomfort,’ he said, his voice filled with tenderness. ‘The bath oils can be good for that, too, I’ve heard. Just wait a few minutes.’

Deciding to trust him in this, she settled into the water with a luxurious wriggle, and soon she discovered he was right; the soreness lessened. ‘Thank you, this is really helping,’ she said as he came back into the room with the bed sheet. ‘What are you—?’ She stopped as he began washing it at the sink. ‘Oh…thank you.’ She blushed that he’d do something so intimate for her, and not think it beneath his masculine dignity.

He turned his face and smiled at her. ‘What happened is nobody’s business but ours. It’s a hot day, so it should be dry by tonight. Besides, you need time to recover.’

She’d wondered what their kidnappers would make of the bloodstain on the sheets—or even the sheet hanging out of the window to dry; but his thoughtfulness touched her anew, even as his unashamed nakedness, and just his smile, made her insides melt. ‘Are you sure about that?’ she murmured huskily.

He made a sound halfway between laughter and a groan. ‘You’re going to kill me, woman. I need time to recover.’

‘Oh. I didn’t know men had to recover,’ she said, rather forlornly. ‘I just thought you might like to share my bath…there’s plenty of room, and it’s so lovely and warm…’

The sheet was abandoned before she finished the thought, and he was in the enormous, two-person bath with her, hauling her onto his lap. ‘Recovery be damned. You’re definitely going to kill me, Amber el-Kanar my wife,’ he muttered between kisses growing hotter by the moment, ‘but at this moment, I can’t think of a better way to go.’

As she dissolved under his touch neither could she.

The next day

It was only as they finished breakfast that the conversation of the first night began working its way up Harun’s consciousness from the dazed mist of contentment and arousal he’d been happily wandering in. The guards no longer intruded on them, but knocked on the door and left food there. They waited in silence at either end of the corridor, not moving or speaking. The assault rifles were no longer trained on them from the windows.

‘How much longer do you think they’ll keep us here?’ Amber asked, as lazily content as he.

He didn’t want to break their bubble by saying
when they know you’re pregnant.
And then Alim was in real danger. ‘So you’re tired of my company already?’ he teased.

Predictably, she blushed but smiled, too. ‘Not quite yet.’ As if to negate the words, the underlying fear they’d both been ignoring—that if their abduction wasn’t the work of her father, the danger was still real and terrifying—she came around the table and snuggled into his lap, winding her arms around his neck. After a long, drugging kiss, she whispered, ‘No, not quite yet—but this has got to be the strangest honeymoon two people ever had.’

He smiled up into her face, so vivid with life, flushed with passion. ‘That’s a bad assertion to make to a historian, my bride.’

‘I love stories about history,’ she murmured, nibbling his lips.

Between kisses, he mumbled, ‘In the Middle Ages, a honeymoon was a very different thing from what it is now. A man who wanted a woman—or if he needed her wealth, dowry or the political connections she brought, but couldn’t have her by conventional means—drugged her, kidnapped her and constantly seduced her. He did so by keeping her half drunk on mead—that’s a honey-based wine—for a month, until the next full moon, so her father would know she’d been very properly deflowered. Then he’d bring her back to her family, with the woman hopefully pregnant, and present the father with the fait accompli. If the father didn’t kill him, but accepted the marriage, he’d then ask for the dowry, or the hereditary title and lands, or whatever it was he’d wanted.’

‘So what’s different from this situation?’ she demanded, smiling, with more nibbling kisses. ‘Okay, we didn’t have the wine, but we had the political marriage, the drugs, the abduction, and the deflowering.’

‘True,’ he conceded the point, deepening the kiss before saying, ‘but I assure you I didn’t organise this, I didn’t drug you, and I have no further demands for your father. I’m perfectly happy with what I have right now.’
Apart from not knowing whether my brother is alive or dead…

Her eyes seemed to be always alight now, either with teasing or with passion. ‘I’m enough for you, then?’

More than enough—you’re everything I’ve ever wanted,
he thought but didn’t say. They were lovers now, but he had no idea where they’d go from here. She wanted him, she’d even said she loved him; but he couldn’t begin to believe she wanted more from him than this time. Proximity, passion, fear, curiosity—to end her three-year shame, or to have the baby she’d demanded from him a year ago. Whatever the reason she’d given herself to him, he didn’t know. Since they’d made love, neither of them had spoken beyond the here and now.

The only thing he knew for certain was that they must get out of here, and soon. Their private time here was running out, and the only emotion he could bring up was regret. Could they keep up their amity, their passion, when the world intruded on them once again?

‘I should have thought of this plan myself, years ago,’ he said, grinning and kissed her to distract himself from his dark thoughts. ‘We could have been doing this for years.’

‘Who says it would have worked on me then?’ she demanded, mock-haughty but with twinkling eyes, and he laughed and showed her how easily it would have worked with a touch that made her moan in pleasure.

‘Tell me more historical titbits,’ she muttered between kisses growing more frantic by the moment. ‘I love the way you teach me about history.’

He didn’t know if she meant it or not, but he began telling her of ancient marriage rituals in their region, while she kept murmuring, ‘Mmm, that’s so fascinating, tell me more,’ between explorations of his body with her hands, fingers and lips.

They soon returned to bed, whispering historical facts to each other in a way they’d never been intended.

‘I want to please you,
mee numara,
’ she whispered as she caressed his body with eager innocence. ‘Show me how your—how to make you happy.’

How your other women touched you.
He heard what she’d left unspoken, but again he barely believed she could be jealous. ‘You please me constantly already.’ Surely she could see that in the way he couldn’t stop touching her?

A fierce look was his answer. ‘So you won’t return to her.’ It wasn’t a question or a plea, but a demand. She wanted him all to herself—she did care—and some deep core of ice he’d never known existed inside him began to melt.

Caring for him made this her business now; it was time to tell her the truth.

‘You have nothing to fear, Amber. You never did,’ he said in a jerking voice because telling anyone someone else’s secret wasn’t in his nature. ‘You know Buhjah means joy. It was Fadi’s nickname for Rafa, the woman he loved, and she loved to hear it again when Fadi was gone, from the other person closest to him. Naima is Fadi’s daughter, my niece. I’ve never touched Buhjah; I see her as my sister-in-law. In fact I arranged a very advantageous marriage for her a few months ago, and, though part of her still loves Fadi, she’s very happy.’

Amber’s mouth fell open, and her eyes came alight. ‘Do you mean that? There is no other woman?’

The ice inside him was melting so quickly it unnerved him, but she’d been open with him, and deserved the whole truth. ‘There never has been. I’ve never knowingly broken a promise in my life. I wasn’t going to start with our marriage vows.’ He saw the look in her eyes; he had to stop her, because she was about the say the words he couldn’t yet believe in, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear them. So he grinned and said, ‘So long as you’re in my bed, I’m content. Even if there were fifty other women in the room right now, you leave me too exhausted to think of looking at them.’ Exhausted, sated and so incredibly joyous: how could she be worried? She was a demanding and giving lover beyond any he’d known.

Her face, her whole body glowed with a furious kind of intent he’d never seen until he touched her, his warrior woman. ‘No other woman but me.’ Again, it wasn’t a question; she was demanding her rights with him. No other woman had ever demanded so much of him, but her fierce, unashamed possessiveness made him come as vividly alive as she. In making love, Amber had none of that cold, queenly pride, but a ferocious need for him, an attitude of
‘you’re mine’
that translated in every touch, throbbed in every word, and made him feel so glad to be her lover. ‘While you’re in my bed, I don’t want to look at another woman,’ he vowed solemnly.

With an inarticulate little cry she leaped at him, and with a kiss he took them both beyond thought.

They spent the afternoon in bed. Not that there was much else to do, but he thought now it wouldn’t matter if there was a choice; their need for each other was almost blinding. Once in a while he wondered who was listening or watching, but then she’d touch or kiss him, and they were gone again.