CHAPTER TWO
HIS STATEMENT HAD flooded the air around them with a strange, prickling awareness. Different from how Kylie had been feeling before, because now he was a part of it. He’d addressed the fantasy; the need.
“What?”
He didn’t touch her, but her body was fizzing as though he had. “I have no intention of taking a bride that doesn’t … satisfy me.”
Kylie’s jaw dropped, and her eyes did too, falling to the floor between them.
“So this is what? A trial?”
His laugh was roughened by genuine amusement. “It is… an opportunity.” He reached up and tapped the glass and immediately the door was opened. Kylie wondered, later, why she didn’t see the signs then – the signs of a man who had a kingdom beneath him. A kingdom whose subjects would not breathe without his consent. But in that moment, her brain was so consumed by what he’d intimated was about to happen that she was utterly stricken.
“And if I don’t want that?” She demanded, the question blocking him from stepping out of the vehicle.
His look was droll as he turned to face her and his hands curled around the handle of the door. He pulled on it, shutting them back into the privacy of the limousine once more.
“Yet you do.”
She glared at him, even as desire swarmed her body, weakening her bones and over-heating her flesh. “Oh, yeah?”
His laugh was low. A throb of noise that almost elicited an audible groan. His hand lifted to her breast, his eyes locked to hers, challenging her to stop him. To put an end to what he was doing – a point he was proving.
She didn’t.
It was a strange feeling, his palm heavy as it curved around her flesh, and when his thumb padded over her tight nipple she did groan, a soft sound in the back of the limousine that was tantamount to her surrender.
“You have never been touched.” It was a statement more than a question, and yet she shook her head.
“No.”
“Kissed?”
She shook her head again. “No.”
Her eyes had swept shut, so she didn’t see the way his expression flared with something like victory.
“It was in the contract,” she reminded him on a soft moan. “The purity clause.”
“So it was.” The Haddad family were relics. Throw-backs. To prohibit a woman from becoming acquainted with something as natural as her physical needs was an antiquated notion, yet in that moment, being the man to touch her for the first time, Khalifa had a barbaric sense of gladness.
He would make her completely his. And she would remain, for always, his.
“This is to our mutual advantage,” he said throatily, bringing his mouth to the base of her neck and flicking his tongue against the pulse point that was hammering frantically. “You may find you are not attracted to me.”
She blinked her eyes open, and the obvious sarcasm in their depths stirred something unexpected in his soul.
“Yeah, okay.” She rolled her eyes, her breathing rushed.
His laugh was a reward. She liked it. Liked the way it sounded.
“It might surprise you to know, I’m more worried about if we’ll have anything in common than I am if we’re sexually compatible.” The sentence sounded prim – making a mockery of the way her body was over-sensitised and her every nerve was screaming out for his attention.
“Both are important,” he said with gentle insistence, dropping his mouth to her breast. And through the fabric of her dress, he clamped his lips over her nipple, and Kylie swore softly, arching her back and almost pushing him away at the same time. The pleasure was almost too much to bear. She could never have imagined her body to be capable of such wild, uncontrollable need, but it flamed through her now, shooting like just-cast arrows through her blood, into every inch of her body.
“But sex matters most?” She pushed, though thought was becoming difficult and her tongue was thick in her mouth.
“It matters,” he agreed gruffly, and then, he lifted his mouth higher, so that she let out a wisp of complaint before he brought his mouth to hers, crushing her with his kiss, his lips pressed to hers. What he didn’t say was that it mattered particularly to him. Sex to null her betrothal. To make her an unsuitable bride to the Haddad family.
Her mouth parted on a note of surrender as his tongue delved into her depths, tormenting her. She froze, every fibre of her being paralysed by the shock of what his kiss was doing to her and then she kissed him back fiercely, her mouth moving with his, her body lifting off the seat so that she could be closer to him as he demanded more and more of her. His hands found the hem of her dress and pushed it upwards, his fingers curving around the softness of her inner-thighs so that she bucked at the foreign but welcome touch.
“I do not think we will have problems in this department,” he said against her mouth, and she shook her head, not wanting him to stop. She sucked him back, needing his kiss, needing this not to stop.
But Khalifa moved further away, placing vital distance between them. “Not here.”
“I… But …”
“You want me,” he agreed knowingly, his confidence making her flush to the roots of her hair. “I want that too. But I am not going to take your innocence in a limousine.”
A tremor of anticipation crept down her spine. “But you are…”
His smile was a seduction; it transfixed her and distracted her. She stared at it, at him, until her heart was beating so fast she could hardly breathe.
“Yes, azeezi. I am going to take you to bed.”
“Take me to bed,” she repeated, murmuring the words with a small shake of her head. “Such a bland description for what I think we’ll do.”
His smile broadened. “Indeed. Are you ready?”
She nodded, even when she wasn’t entirely sure that she was.
Again, he tapped on the window and the door was immediately opened, giving Kylie only a moment to run a hand over her hair, straightening it down, neatening her appearance before emerging into the heat of the day once more.
The Sheikh looked unaffected by the day’s mugginess – even in his suit, he was magazine-ad-handsome.
Kylie took care when she stepped out of the vehicle to keep her dress as low over her hips as possible, but she sensed more disapproval from this small army of guards. Her husband-to-be was clearly a very important man. Or maybe just very rich, if the size of his yacht was anything to go by. Her eyes moved over the glamorous boat, taking in the several levels, the glass windows, the enormous entertaining deck at the back and the more private deck at the front, and finally the rooftop area, with a small intake of breath. It was beautiful, and obviously the last word in luxury. He turned to her, his expression impenetrable, his impatience perceptible so that she sped up a little, to stand by his side, and then, when he strode towards the boat, she moved beside him, her heart racing, her pulse pounding.
There was a plank extended, wide enough for them to move side by side onto the deck of the boat. At the top, he paused, holding a hand out for Kylie and she took it, though there was no instability in the boat. It was contact, and contact she suddenly craved. Curiosity made her do it.
Had they really just … she looked down and saw that her dress was marked with where he’d tasted her flesh through the fabric and heat rose in her cheeks. Her eyes skidded to his and his smile was arrogantly knowing.
“You are to be mine,” he said with quiet determination and though the words were carried away on the heat of the breeze, they sent a shiver down Kylie’s spine. A brace of anticipation.
“People don’t own people,” she retorted with the same care to speak sotto voce so as not to be overheard.
But he was still holding her hand and he pulled her closer, his finger stroking the flesh of her palm as his eyes locked to hers. “You know nothing of people and ownership, lanaria.” He lifted her hand then, haunting a kiss across her fingertips that spread stardust over her skin. “But I will teach you what it is to own someone completely. And to be owned.”
The shiver at the base of her spine turned into a full-blown tremble now but she was powerless to look away. And he knew it. His smile had a hint of mockery – he was in control, completely. “But first, lunch.”
She blinked at the strangely discordant directive, and worse, the betraying groan of disagreement deep in her body. She didn’t want lunch. She wanted … this man.
This.
What his body had promised to hers. She was on tenterhooks now, needing something she hadn’t even really known she’d been depriving herself of.
And he knew. His all-too perceptive eyes crinkled at the corners as he leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “Or would you rather come straight to my bed?” He asked and Kylie bit down on her lip, self-doubt as foreign to her as it was unwelcome.
Where had her strength gone? Her confidence?
It had been sucked out along with her certainty about life. Marry this man? On the one hand, he was the embodiment of every single one of her fantasies. But on the other … he spoke about ownership and she didn’t, for a second, doubt the truth of those words. This man would own her, utterly and completely, and she would be rendering herself powerless to some extent.
Could she live a life such as that?
“I want to feel more,” she muttered, dropping her eyes to the highly-sheened deck with a mix of self-disgust and frustration.
“I know.” He lifted his hands to either side of her face, his fingers splayed wide across her cheeks. “And you will.” His lips crushed hers once more – did this man have the capability of being gentle? He was such a cave man and she’d never been more turned on. His kiss was possession and power and she succumbed to it with shameful willingness. She clung to his shirt front as her knees weakened and her back swayed forward and perhaps it was only his hands on her face that held her upright. That, and the kiss she would chase to the ends of the earth.
She was not mindful of the servants that were all around them. She didn’t care that this public display of affection was as unorthodox as it was condemnatory. She wanted this man with a ferociousness that resigned all common sense to a locked box of her mind.
“After.” He used the word to lever himself away from her, straightening as though it wasn’t ripping a part of him in two. Kylie stared up at him, her breath dragged from her body, her fingers still tangled in the fine fabric of his suit. “Soon.” He softened the promise with the hint of a smile and her heart flopped over.
He stepped away, effectively dislodging her contact and began to move further along the deck. Kylie followed, oblivious to the glances from the security team and ship’s crew. Had she looked, she would have seen some were filled with idle curiosity, others with disapproval.
But Kylie didn’t see – she was floating somewhere above the yacht, way up on cloud nine.
“What is lanaria?” She repeated the strange sounding word he’d said – though she had been taught Argenon, she hadn’t had much occasion to speak it and she certainly didn’t know this word.
He tilted his head to face her and then looked away. “It means little princess.”
“Little princess?” Her stomach squeezed. She hated how much she liked that moniker.
He stopped walking abruptly and she almost bumped into him. Her eyes lifted to him, and then beyond him, to the front of the ship. The bow? The stern? She was not naturally a nautical person and this was only about the fifth time in her life she’d been out on the water.
A table had been set and it was no less luxurious than the boat and the limousine and the man himself would have led her to expect. A crisp white cloth covered the table and fell all the way to the floor and the dishes placed at the centre of the table were gold. Or gold-plated, she amended, but somehow she suspected they might actually be full, solid gold. There were crystal lids over each plate and comport so she could see the array of delicacies that was awaiting them. Oysters, prawns, fruit, sweets, salad, cheese. As if on cue, her stomach gave a little groan and she pressed a palm to it with a grimace.
His laugh was like treacle on her fraught nerves. “Hungry?”
She blinked up at him, the double entendre not lost on her. She nodded, flicking her attention back to the table with cheeks that were stained cherry red. “Yep.” Embarrassment made her continue, “Mel and I were going to go for brunch when you arrived.”
“You haven’t eaten today,” he said thoughtfully.
Kylie nodded.
“Is this normal for you?”
Kylie couldn’t help the laugh that tinkled from her lips. She didn’t see the way Khalifa stiffened beside her. “No. Nothing about this is normal.”
He moved ahead of her to the table, pulling a chair out for her to take. His intake of breath as she stepped into the space he’d created did flip flops in her belly. Because it was a sound of awareness and surprise, like he too had been unprepared for the way the air around them would crackle with heat and need.
Good.
Kylie didn’t like the idea of being the only one totally thrown off course by desire and lust.
“I did not mean the boat. I referred to not eating breakfast.”
“Oh.” Kylie shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
An army of servants descended upon them, lifting the lids, removing them momentarily so other staff members could serve portions of the delicacies onto their plates. Kylie sat back, her eyes drawn to the Sheikh’s face with an invisible magnetic force.
A servant filled her wine glass with sparkling water and she pulled a face. “I think I need something stronger.”
His eyes showed amusement but he shook his head. “No.”
“No?” She arched a brow, the command sitting heavily around her heart. The fear that she’d done her best not to feel, even as a girl, beat like a bongo drum inside of her. Fear of the unknown. Of going to live at the heart of a patriarchal society. Fear of being controlled.
Beneath the table, his foot found hers and she gasped at the need the simple contact aroused.
“I do not want your senses to be even slightly dulled.” His smile was haunted though and she suspected there was more to it – something he wasn’t telling her. The fear swirled in her chest.
“Is that what my life will be like in Argenon? Will I not have any say in my own choices?”
His laugh was a short sharp rejection. “You think because I want to bring you to my bed sober I intend to take away your choices?”
She bit down on her lip and turned away, angling her head towards the sparkling Sydney Harbour.
The boat was moving! How had she not realised that in the time it had taken them to take their seats and admire the food that the crew had set to work on freeing the enormous vessel from its mooring and were rolling it away from land?
“We’re moving!”
He laughed again, a softer sound now. “This is the point of boats, I think.”
“Yes, but …” she gaped, turning back to him. “Where are we going?”
“You do not like surprises,” he surmised.
Kylie shook her head, reaching for an oyster on autopilot. “On the contrary, I love them. But … I think I’ve had enough surprises today.”
His eyes showed amusement, a swirling in their dark depths that spoke to her on an instinctive level. She ate the oyster, its salty pungency jolting her senses in a way she certainly welcomed.
“You will have plenty of agency in Argenon,” he returned to her original question. “I have no interest in micro-managing your life.”
The reassurance was brief but it did what he had intended. She relaxed a little, not stopping to question why she felt such inherent trust for a man she had just met.
“What’s it like?”
“Argenon?” He frowned, reaching for a strawberry and popping it into his mouth. “Surely you’ve been?”
“Once. As a young girl. Before my parents … before they … before I lost them,” she finished weakly, a twist of her lips showing that she’d prefer not to speak of her family.
He saw the emotions that crossed her delicate features and he pitied her. Pitied her for the parents who had sold her to the Haddad family, who would have seen her married to a man who would hurt her and hate her in equal measure, pitied her for their deaths, too, for no child should have to endure being orphaned.
And he pitied her for his actions, perhaps most of all, though he knew he had chosen the only course before him. How easy it was to ignore one small woman’s needs and interests when the whole country looked to him to act! Still, his duplicity was not something he felt overly comfortable with. And it was duplicity – a knowing deception. He had ordered his staff to remove any hint of royal signage from the yacht. While his power and wealth were obvious, his exact position in Argenon society was something he intended to protect. The sooner his body had possessed hers, the better.
His job was to destroy her betrothal – to make the marriage impossible. His kingdom needed that.
“What do you remember?” He prompted.
She scrunched up her nose in a gesture that made her look about five years younger than she was. “It was hot, like this, when we visited.”
“Was it just a holiday or do your parents have family there?”
“No, no family. I think it was to see your family, actually,” she tilted her head to one side, trying to make sense of the memories. “There was a party and a celebration, and they were very excited. My mother looked beautiful. She always did,” Kylie sighed, remembering the smell of roses that had accompanied Sophie everywhere she went, and the long, flowing dress she’d worn that night.
Beneath the table, Khalifa dug his fingers into his knee. The million dollars Sophie and Brent Mathison had been paid for Kylie’s betrothal was obviously a small fortune to the bordering-on-bankrupt property developers. Sixteen years earlier, when they’d received the payment, it would have been an incomprehensible sum.
But to sell their daughter?
He despised their actions though he took an unusual degree of care not to show it.
“You don’t remember?” She prompted. “You’re older than me. You must have been, what? Ten?”
He concealed a smile at her attempt to flatter him by rounding down his age. “I wasn’t there.”
She nodded slowly. “Anyway. It was hot and there were lots of people. I remember the colours,” she said, running a finger over the swollen base of her fork – it was gold, too, with a jewel embedded in the base that looked worryingly like a diamond – feeling its plumpness as her mind travelled back in time.
“Colours?” He prompted.
“Oh, colours everywhere. The flowers, the buildings that were all a similar design, joined together in long higgledy piggledy rows and painted different colours. Some orange, some blue, some yellow. It was striking.”
“You must have gone to Mesathinî,” he said with a nod. “A coastal town with a tradition of using colour to ward off sea monsters.”
Kylie wiggled her brows in amusement. “Does it work?”
“The town is almost a thousand years old. So it must.”
She laughed. “That’s science, right there.”
His grin was just a flicker on his face and yet it filled her up with a warmth she hadn’t known she needed.
“The women wore bright clothes,” she said, still floating through her memories. “Beautiful dresses and headscarves that had jewels stitched through them.”
Her description fitted with an encounter with Argenon nobility. The Haddad family certainly wore headscarves that often had diamonds and rubies set into the stitching.
“Will I wear a headscarf?”
“Only for religious events,” he said with a shake of his head. “Argenon is a progressive society and the ruling family makes a point of allowing religious autonomy.”
“I’m glad.” She nodded. “The nannies and tutors your family engaged for me over the years have almost always been formidable and sometimes I worried that I might be moving to a country where I would be oppressed or…”
“No.” His eyes flashed with determination. So long as she didn’t marry the bastard Fayez Haddad, she’d be just fine. That same determination flittered in his gut, reassuring him that he was doing the right thing. This course of action was best for everyone. “You will be happy in Argenon.”
“Thank you.” She hadn’t realised until then just how badly she’d needed to hear that.
“When you say formidable…?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. That must sound incredibly ungrateful.”
He frowned in response. “No.”
“Good. Because I am. Grateful. After my parents died, I would have gone into foster care, or been adopted, and I think I would have lost all this. My heritage. My parents’ wishes…”
“Your heritage,” he repeated. “Your family left Argenon many generations ago. Do you really feel such a connection to our people?”
Her smile was weak. “Are you trying to change my mind about our wedding.”
He didn’t answer, simply lifted his own water and sipped it, his eyes locked broodingly to hers over the rim of the glass.
But the seed had been planted inside Kylie and doubts grew easily in the furtive soil of her gut. “Do you resent this marriage?”
“Yes,” he said, an answer so immediate and so honest that he had to backpedal swiftly. “But your body offers some compensation.” His smile showed that he was joking, but Kylie’s confusion was growing.
And he saw it.
He recognised it.
Damn it. Khalifa stood, not taking his eyes off Kylie’s for even a moment. But when he spoke it was in his own language. Words she could only catch one or two of, and loudly, not for her benefit.
The effect though translated for her. The servants that were dotted over the deck dispersed instantly, forming a line that disappeared below deck. Within seconds, they were alone.
“Come here.”
Kylie’s face wore a mask of bravado but her heart was rabbiting hard and fast in her chest, the tattoo urgent and overpowering. She stared at him, immobilised not by a lack of desire but rather an over-surge of it. Her limbs were weakened by lust. She stared at him, a question in the depths of her irises – a question he instinctively understood.
With a noise heralding from deep in his throat, he stood first, moving around the table to where Kylie sat. She was frozen.
He knelt beside her, curling an arm around the back of her chair, so that her body was wrapped in his strength and his masculine scent assaulted her nostrils.
“I want you,” he said simply, and the reassurance was so perfect that she sucked in a breath. “Do not doubt it.”
“I do doubt it…”
“Why?” The fingers of one hand curled around her ankle and then lightly ran upwards, teasing the soft flesh of her calf, making her suck in a sharp breath of surprise. His eyes were locked to her profile and she had the sense that she couldn’t hide from him.
“How can you not see how badly I want this; how badly I want to teach your body its limitations.”
She gasped as his hands moved higher, to her inner flesh.
“I want to make you beg for me, for more.” He grinned as his fingers moved higher and she froze, finally turning her face to his. “Starting with this.”