CHAPTER NINE
KHALIFA STARED AT THE chancellor with every appearance of listening. But he wasn’t. Not really. His mind, usually as sharp as a tack and focussed on whatever he decided to turn his attention to, was slipping around like a fish on dry land.
He’d stayed with his wife an hour in the end, watching as she took dainty mouthfuls of her breakfast and thought through every answer she gave him.
Had she always been so cautious?
He thought back to Sydney, a frown on his face.
She’d been overwhelmed then, totally surprised by the chemistry between them. Had that been her inexperience?
He rubbed a hand over his square jaw, feeling the stubble with fingertips that ached to instead be enjoying the soft smoothness of his wife’s body.
“Are we going to talk about what happened last night?”
Her question, at the end of their meeting, had surprised him. The soft way she’d spoken, the hurt he’d caught in her eyes before she’d blinked and settled her features so that he wondered if he’d imagined the emotion altogether.
“Would you like to talk about it, azeezi?”
Dear God, the way her teeth sunk into the pillowy softness of her lower lip, and her eyes had flicked away from him. Her throat had moved, a delicate shift as she’d swallowed, it had brought his attention to the bruising from Fayez and his body had practically frozen. With a need to make love to her. Gently, softly, slowly. To bring her pleasure, and erase any pain she’d ever felt.
“I’m not sure.”
The ambivalence of her response had done something to him. Had made him wonder if far from removing her pains, he wasn’t inflicting new ones.
“Sir?” He frowned. A slash in his handsome face. “Would you like us to proceed?”
“I wasn’t listening,” he said, without feeling a need to apologise or explain. He scraped his chair back and addressed his Principal without looking in his direction. “Clear my afternoon, Thaida.”
“Yes, sir.”
The night before, Khalifa had told himself there was only one way to push unpleasant and unwanted thoughts from his mind.
And while satisfying, it wasn’t strictly true.
When Selena had first come to live at the palace, after leaving Fayez, Khalifa had needed to channel his rage and impotence into something. Something that would stop him from pummelling the other man into a bloodied heap.
He strode into the stables and towards his Arabian Steed. The servants bowed low but Khalifa ignored them.
Something was burning in his gut and if he didn’t ride, he knew it would control him. He took the steed’s bridle, guiding him out of the stall and then swinging up onto his saddled back.
The horse made a noise of greeting and Khalifa leaned lower, stroking the beast’s thick black mane. “Let’s go.” He spoke in his own language and kicked the side of the horse so that he set off sharply. Khalifa twisted the reins, guiding the horse out. Away from the palace, away from the chancellor, his Principal. And away from his wife.
He rode fast and hard, deep into the private royal desert. He rode until the wind had pulled his hair from the bun he wore it in, until the sun was heating his back and his body felt the heady pain that came with riding hard and furiously.
Then, he turned the beast around and stared back at his palace; his kingdom; his world.
“I just … I don’t really understand what you want from me.”
The quiet, plaintive statement as he’d been about to leave. The way she’d shown her emotions fully in that moment. Her sense of confusion; her need for him to reassure her.
But she hadn’t been the only one at a loss. He didn’t understand what he wanted from her. “I married you,” he’d shrugged. “I got what I wanted.”
“Because of the political stuff,” she’d nodded, her eyes wide in her face. “I was reading about it last night. About my family, that is, the Maha Ishans and the Haddids, and you. Your family…”
His eyes had glinted. “Then you know why I had to make you mine.”
Her face had paled at his use of the possessive phrase. He knew she didn’t like the idea of someone being owned. Hell, nor did he. But for a woman who’d willingly taken millions of dollars in payment for her eventual hand in marriage, the concept seemed utterly appropriate.
“Because if I’d married Fayez it would have been a threat to your rule?”
Khalifa hadn’t been able to meet her eyes then. The lie was not a difficult one to discover. His power was absolute. The Haddad family were no true threat to him, besides for riling up a few quarters of government that would always be looking to stir trouble.
No, wanting to marry Kylie had far more to do with hurting Fayez. It had everything to do with Selena.
And he didn’t want to admit as much to anyone; least of all his new wife.
And so he’d kissed her. Suddenly, quickly, giving her no time to recognise his intent, nor to react. He’d dropped his head and plundered her mouth, groaning as she’d submitted to him, as she’d offered herself to him instantly. Her body cleaved to his and her kiss was filled with the same passion that stirred in him.
Only a need to control that passion saw him step backwards just as suddenly as he’d kissed her, his eyes glinting unknowingly with speculation. “You have a busy day, lanaria. Dry your hair. Smile.”
And he’d left, without waiting to see if she did smile. If she did anything. If he’d stayed a moment longer, he might have seen bewilderment be chased from her face by frustration and annoyance, and then the way she’d leant back against the wall, needing its support badly.
Khalifa pulled the horse to a complete stop, his easy ability to control the enormous, elegant creature something he took for granted. He’d always been able to control everyone, everything. Except Selena.
And now, his desire for his wife.
It was unwelcome.
Surprising.
And utterly distracting.
*
Kylie stifled a yawn. It was only four o’clock, but her night had been disturbed and her day had been busy. She was exhausted.
“That’s enough for today.” Aïna, ever watchful, emerged from the side of the room, her manner strict as she addressed the women who had come to speak to Kylie about the décor of her apartment. Apparently she could have it fitted out in any way she wished. The idea that she was happy with the existing furnishings was something people were finding difficult to grasp.
“We have only two more albums…” The older woman murmured, reaching into the portfolio at her side.
“Enough.” Aïna was firm. “The Sheikha is finished for the day.”
Kylie was. Her head was swimming with all the information she’d been presented with. So many decisions to make and none of them seeming that important to Kylie. She had tried to involve herself in matters such as when the public day of celebration would be for her birthday and when she might be able to sit for an official portrait, but apathy was seeping into her bones. Or perhaps it was boredom.
These matters were inconsequential.
They were not what filled her mind.
She stretched restlessly and stood, the beautiful dress from that morning still feeling like something floaty and magical; like something from a dream.
“It looks hot out there,” she remarked, moving towards the doors that led to her balcony.
“Yes, ma’am. A warm one.”
“Still…” She pulled a door inwards. Heat rushed her as though from an oven. She took a breath and stepped out. And smiled.
Though Sydney was humid and this was dry, the sun was the same. Strong and enlivening. She held her hands over her head.
“Can I send some ice tea up?”
“No, thank you. I thought… perhaps I might go for a walk.”
“Oh, yes.” Aïna nodded. “I’ll call for your maids.”
“No, no,” Kylie’s laugh was soft. “I don’t need maids. I’ll stay within the palace.”
“Oh…”
“Really, Aïna. I’ve spent the whole day in company. I’d like to be by myself for a while.”
Aïna’s indecision was obvious, but eventually, she nodded. “You will ask for help if you need it.”
“Of course. What do you think? I’m going to get lost? Perhaps I should leave a trail of breadcrumbs as I go.”
It was only a joke, but after half an hour of wandering, Kylie realised with bemusement that she had no damned clue where she was. She paused at a large window, trying to orientate herself from the location of the city and the desert, and drew a blank. To the best of her recollection, she was on the opposite side of the building to her suite of rooms. She could see the fringe of the desert, but there were trees too, hundreds of them, and they called to her.
Telling herself there’d be servants to help her find her way back, she kept walking until she came to a large, wide marble staircase. There were perhaps thirty steps, all sunken in the middle from years of use. She practically ran down and, sure enough, at the doors that led to the exit, four guards stood immobile.
Fear tripped in her heart, as though she was perhaps doing something wrong, something they would prevent her from completing, but they didn’t so much as acknowledge her as she moved through the door.
A small smile of satisfaction curled her lips.
Good.
The path beyond the palace was landscaped but it gave way quickly to the grove of trees she’d seen from inside. Up close, she realised it was an orchard of sorts, though not like the ones she’d seen back home. There was nothing organised or orderly about this. The fruit trees seemed to grow at random, forming a forest of sorts. Fragrant and heady, and utterly wild. She moved beneath the branches – the temperature dropped several degrees in the luxuriant shade – and she pulled a citrus from one of the trees as she passed. Strange that it was in fruit now, when the weather was so warm. She peeled its outer layer – a mottled orange and pink, and found it to be like a cross between a blood orange and mandarin. Easily segmented but with the most vibrant ruby cover.
She groaned as she ate the first quarter, then greedily finished it before reaching for another. She’d never tasted anything so incredible. The flesh was juicy and sweet and it dribbled down her chin. She actually laughed as she peeled the second orb, moving faster now, her energy returning. She breathed in the sweetness of the air, lifting a hand and tickling the underside of the trees. A bird made a squawk – it was faraway and she changed direction, moving out of the thickness of the fruit orchard and finding open sky.
She saw it overhead. An eagle? Something with an incredibly wide wingspan. She watched it circle and then move further into the distance. Towards the desert. Her heart was racing – but she wasn’t afraid.
She was alive.
The sky with its brilliant blue and the trees so green and lush, the fruit so sweet, the air so warm, the desert shimmering like diamond dust in the distance. She sighed, a blissful sound of contentment and rightness and then she was very still. A rhythmic noise she’d missed at first filled her eardrums. It was fast and far away. Curious, she moved further out of the trees, and scrambled up a grass hill, almost slipping and reaching out to steady herself with a thin branch of a tree.
It had a spike which slit her finger but she didn’t slow down, simply lifted her finger to her mouth and sucked the cut and then went higher, her eyes roaming the desert, seeking the source of the noise.
It was closer now. Louder. Like a fast-beating drum.
Her eyes chased it and then, she sucked in a breath.
Khalifa, looking more wild and regal than any man had a right to, on a horse that was at least twice the size of any she’d ever seen. She crouched down instinctively, but her eyes didn’t leave his body.
Magnificent.
It was the only word she could find to describe him as he rode, so fast, so hard, bent low over the beast. She could just make out his mouth’s movements, but of course not hear what he was saying. His hair was loose, and long, and it chased after him, a black curtain as wild as the man himself.
She stared – how could she not? He was the picture of strength and virility and on this hot day, her temperature soared. A rivulet of sweat ran between her breasts and she fanned her face, hunger swamping her, desire something she felt burst through her.
He turned the horse away from the palace, moving deeper into the desert once more. She crouched lower, her eyes chasing him all the way, hypnotised by the swift movements of the beast, the power with which it kicked sand behind itself, and the way Khalifa seemed almost to be a part of the horse.
He turned then, unexpectedly, running the horse at a right angle, parallel to the palace’s gardens, before swinging around, and for a moment, she lost sight of him. She stood on autopilot, refusing to relinquish the pleasure she’d gained from the sight of his strength and virility.
It was a need she couldn’t properly explain, but watching him had filled her with such a sense of pleasure. She needed more. She turned one way and then the other, unable to hear the horse now over the racing of her pulse - it was an angry torrent of ocean in her ears, as unrelenting as it was unavoidable.
The bird flapped overhead, its large wings momentarily blocking out the sun. Kylie looked upwards, a frown on her face as she tried to recognise it from the markings under its wings. Strange that she wasn’t at all afraid – had she known then that a deadly predator was eyeing her, she might have sought cover.
But in that moment, Kylie could simply stare at the bird, and yes, compare it in some ways to her powerful husband. The grace, the energy, the masculinity, the strength. It was a thing of intense fascination.
It was moving closer to her now. Not lower, but nearing her direction, and it occurred to her then that perhaps she shouldn’t be drawing its attention. She frowned, hands on hips, and returned her attention to the desert.
Just as Khalifa appeared to her right, his body hunched low over the steed until he pulled it to a stop, right beside her.
He was hot, his face beaded with perspiration, but he swung from the horse as though it weren’t almost two metres off the ground. His eyes held hers and he made a noise, something loud and deep. She startled at the newness and foreigness of it but didn’t otherwise move.
The bird, larger than it had seemed at first, circled directly above them now and then landed on his outstretched arm. He reached into his pocket with his free hand, pulled something out – dried food? – and gave it to the bird. Its eyes were yellow – as bright as sunflower petals, but more glistening. Kylie took a step closer, mesmerised.
“What is it?”
“A Pharoah’s Eagle,” he said, his own voice husked. “Bred for the Sheikh of Argenon for as long as there’s been one.” He made another noise and the bird flew off a little way, back into the sky, across the desert and then down, out of sight.
“It’s beautiful.”
“He is a dangerous predator, azeezi. You are fortunate to still have eyes in your head.”
She paled. “I didn’t know.”
“Obviously not.” He lifted a hand to the horse’s mane, stroking it and retrieving something else from the pocket of his robe. Another piece of dried food. He held it out for the horse, who took it gratefully, stomping his feet in appreciation and shaking his regal head.
“You’re hot.” Khalifa held a hand out to her then, and closer, the scent of him was knee-bucklingly perfect. Sand, heat, sweat, strength. She curved her cheek into his palm as he assessed her temperature for himself. “You shouldn’t be this far from the palace without your maids.“
“I wanted to be alone,” she murmured, by way of explanation.
“It’s the evening. The time of day when predators surface, looking for a meal.”
A frown tugged at her lips. “You’re out here.”
“Perhaps I’m the biggest predator there is.” It was light-hearted, but a shiver ran the length of Kylie’s spine.
He had preyed on her.
It was a fair description of their interaction. From the first moment in Sydney, hadn’t she been a little something for him to play with? She bit down on her lip, the description lodging strangely in her chest.
“I’m used to the desert.” He stroked her cheek. “And you are not. This heat…”
“Yes, because Sydney’s never hot,” she responded with droll sarcasm, pulling away from his touch, needing space, even from him. Even as her body burned up with wants and needs.
“Like this?” He took the cue from her and moved back a little, waving his hand around them.
“No, not like this.” Her sigh was soft and she looked over her shoulder, towards the fruit. “That orchard…”
“Yes, I can see you’ve enjoyed it,” he said with a smile.
She blinked, lifting a hand to her face. “Why?”
His smile stretched wider. “You have juice here…” He lifted a finger and ran it down her chin. “And here.” He dragged his finger across her lip, then to the opposite corner, down her chin and to the soft skin of her neck.
She made a small sound of surrender, loathing herself for her weakness.
“It was the fruit. The red ones.”
He said something, a word that she couldn’t have repeated with a gun to her head.
But she nodded. “I had two of them.”
“They are my favourites as well.”
Her stomach squeezed at the admission.
It was hardly ground-breaking, but it was a small point in common.
“You were so fast out there.” Without thinking, she reached up, patting the horse’s long, dark neck. The action opened her body to Khalifa and he stayed where he was, close enough to feel her movements through the shifting of her breasts.
“Yes.” A gruff admission as desire roughened his throat, coating it with intention.
“What’s beyond those mountains?”
“More desert.” He didn’t look towards the horizon. “And eventually, another town.” He reached for her hand, catching it in his and lifting it from the horse. He carried it to his lips, placing a single kiss against her palm – but it was enough. Need was sharp in her gut.
Need for him.
And it was urgent.
“Would you like to ride with me?”
A flicker of a smile lifted her lips. Ride with him? Hell, she wanted to ride him.
“That thing is as big as me,” she said, eyeing the horse with obvious doubts.
“That ‘thing’ is a purebread Arabian Steed.” He leaned closer, so that his next words were whispered across her cheek. “And he will be gentle.”
Her eyes flew to his, her heart in her throat, her lips parted. He was going to say something else. She could feel it. She could see it. But then, his hands wrapped around her waist and he lifted her as though she weighed nothing, depositing her on the horse, in the front of the saddle. It was inelegant, and not particularly easy, to arrange herself in the flowing dress, but she did so quickly, just before Khalifa swung himself into the saddle behind her.
His arms wrapped around her as the took the reins, his body framing hers, his strength literally encasing her. She bit down on her lip, her eyes closed, as he kicked the horse and it began to move, slowly at first, so that she was comfortable and confident before they reached the sand and Khalifa gave an extra kick. The horse responded instantly, breaking into a fast run, so that Kylie made a noise of surprise and Khalifa fisted the reins in the palm of one hand, and curved his other around her, holding her back against him, keeping her tight to his body, reassuring her and ruining her all at once. His fingers splayed wide across her belly, pressing her into place and he expertly guided the steed, across the sands. After several minutes, the unfamiliar speed and uneven course seemed less startling and she relaxed against him.
Khalifa didn’t move his hand at first, but almost twenty minutes later, as they reached the shadow cast by the mountains, he dropped his hand to her thigh. It was a casual gesture but it spoke of comfort and ease. Of a relationship that allowed them to casually touch and feel.
The eagle flew overhead, its wings casting shade as it moved.
Khalifa slowed the horse, but when he spoke, it was with his head pressed over her shoulder. He was so close to her. Despite their clothes, she could feel him.
His heat, his body, his heart.
“I climbed these mountains as a boy.”
Kylie tilted her head, unintentionally bringing herself into closer contact with him. They were steep and tall, and comprised mainly of rocks. Little shapes moved high up and she frowned. “What’s that?”
“Goats.” He grinned. “Wild, and quite cranky, when you get close.”
“How old were you?”
“When I climbed it? Nine.”
“Nine?” She tilted her face with apparent disbelief. “That’s so young.”
His eyes ran across her features. “It didn’t feel it at the time.” He lifted his hand back to her belly, holding her steady, as he kicked the horse back into action, moving them nearer to the mountains. “My father had been telling me for years about his own attempts – at twelve. He had never got further than that peak there.” He pointed to a rocky outcrop that seemed to jut out at a ninety degree angle.
“So you wanted to beat your father?”
“To make him proud,” Khalifa corrected. “I would have done anything to make him proud.”
Like stopping a marriage that could have been damaging to the Al Asouri family’s rule?
“He died a week after my twenty first birthday.”
Kylie was startled out of her reverie, pulled back into the moment, and more importantly, back into this man’s conversation. “I’m sorry.”
He tilted his head by way of acknowledgement. “What you said this morning, about being orphaned is like losing one’s bookends, one’s sense of place, is exactly how it felt. Fortunately for me, I had the kingdom to turn to – a kingdom as deeply in mourning as I was.”
“A kingdom that must have expected a lot of you, when you were going through your own grieving.”
Her perception lodged in his core. It was true – the pressures of being strong and guiding their people had taken its toll. Behind closed doors, he’d found it almost impossible to recover from the sudden death.
“Your mother?”
“I never knew her,” he said the words without emotion yet somehow Kylie sensed the depth of his grief. “I was only one when she died.”
“So young.”
He made a grunting noise of agreement. She felt that he was about to say more but the bird swooped low at that moment, making a sound like a squawk that instantly tensed Khalifa.
He looked towards the sky and swore, turning the horse sharply back towards the palace. “Hold on, azeezi.”
“What is it?”
“Look.” He nodded heavenwards. “A storm is coming.”
She blinked up at the sky, seeing only blue clouds. Oh, there were a few wisps of white. “I don’t…”
“Trust me.” He pulled her closer to his body and sped them up, making the horse move faster than the wind, whipping them across the dessert. It began to rain when they were still some distance from the grounds of the palace, and the bird flew lower, closer, constantly watchful. The rain fell in thick splats at first, fat and weighty, pressing against her legs, her head, the horse, the ground. She watched as the earth beneath them became pock-marked by the determined force of the weather.
It was different to in Australia. Not the same smell of electricity and the water was cold, bringing instant relief. It was also fast. By the time Khalifa reached the garden near the palace, the ground had inches of water on it. He brought the horse to a halt near the side of the palace, hopping down easily and then reaching for her. His hands curved around her hips. She was drenched. He placed her on the ground with a gentleness that took her breath away.
“Go!” There was nothing soft about the command though. His eyes locked to hers with white-hot intensity. “Go inside.”
“But you’re…”
“I’m going to stable him,” he reached for the reins.
“You’ll get wet.”
His smile was breathtaking. “It’s too late for that.”
But Kylie didn’t want to be parted from him. Something wonderful had been wrapping around them and she was reluctant to let it go. To drop the chains that had begun to bind them.
“Go.” A quieter instruction this time, but no less urgent.
She nodded, turning, about to run towards the palace door, where the four guards still stood. But he caught her wrist and pulled her back against his chest, the kiss an instant, heady rush of certainty. He kissed her with need, he kissed her with heat. She melted against him, her body weakened by all that he offered.
“Go.” But he kissed her still, even when he knew he needed to pull back and put space between them. He kissed her, his fingers splayed against her back, holding her to him, so that she could feel all of him, through the wetness of their clothes. Rain pounded them, but they were too wet to notice. Too caught up, as well; so in the moment of passion that the outside world had ceased to matter.
With a noise of frustration, compelled finally by common sense, he broke the kiss, clasping her chin between his finger and thumb, tilting her head to his. “You must go, before you dissolve into a puddle.”
Oh, but she already was. Couldn’t he tell?
*
The storm raged around him and Khalifa stared out at it, his arms crossed, a frown on his face. She was only a room away. He could be with her in minutes.
But danger seared his soul.
Danger in the way she’d laughed with him, smiled at him, seemed to so completely understand him.
There was danger in the way his body had tightened with a need to protect her. Seeing her on the edge of the garden with his bird overhead, knowing her to be so vulnerable. She had been manipulated by those who should have loved her most. She had become a pawn to them at the moment of conception. He felt an ache of vulnerability for the child who’d buried her parents and shaped her life after their loss. Who’d lived her life as a tribute to their loss!
Didn’t she realise she was part of a greater plan? She spoke of fate and destiny; but these mattered not when choices were made.
Imagining her life if she’d married Fayez Haddad – knowing how close she’d come to doing exactly that – showed more danger, for it infuriated Khalifa and burned him with rage.
There was danger in the way he’d wanted to talk to her, to tell her about his secrets and his needs. Danger in the way he wanted to learn hers.
His wife was not for that. He didn’t want to get to know her – the woman who would have sold herself to Fayez. He didn’t want to encourage her to care for him. Romance, love, affection, these were all foolish distractions and he had already been distracted by them once in his life. Losing Selena had damned near demented him for a time.
No, he hadn’t married Kylie for any warm and fuzzy reason.
She was a means to an end and that end was revenge. Avenging Selena’s pain in the only way left open to him –he wouldn’t let his mind wander. He wouldn’t let this become about Kylie – about Kylie’s needs. Nor his need for Kylie. Sex was one thing. Any other form of intimacy was not on his agenda.