The Sultan's Bed (10 page)

“W
hy not?”

Mariah gave Zayad a bleak smile. “They only show that he's messing around now, not that he did before. Sure, it'll help, showing that he's lied about seeing someone recently. But it's his past infidelities—the affair he had while they were married—that's going to bring around the justice, show him as the liar he is.”

“I see.”

He was clearly disappointed, and the sight filled Mariah with gratification as much as empathy. Never in her life had a man cared this much about her and her pursuits. Zayad Fandal was a great lover and he was an amazing friend. She was lucky to know someone like him.

Though a little cursed, as well.

She went to him, put her arms around him. “You've been wonderful. Thank you.”

“I have not found you your answers.”

“You've done the best you could.”

“No, but I will.”

“I'll figure this out.”

“With my further assistance.”

She looked up at him, melted in the heat of his dark gaze. “You've done too much already—”

“I will see this through, Mariah.”

“Why is it so important to you?”

“Because it is important to you.”

Her heart squeezed just then, and she let her head fall against his chest. He felt so solid, so strong, his heart beating against her cheek. He made her feel like a woman, feminine and cared for, and she couldn't deny it any longer—she was in love with him.

Maybe these feelings in such a short time were crazy and stupid, but she didn't care. She felt alive. Bitterness had gotten her through the pain, but now it was stopping her from not only loving, but living.

A thought snaked into her brain. A thought built on hope. If Zayad had fallen in love with her, too, or was on his way, would he stay?

“There is another reason I wish to help you.”

His words vibrated against her cheek, their content sending spirals of nerves through her belly. Was he about to tell her how he felt? What he wanted? Or was this an admission of something outside of them?

“I also do this for Redet.”

Her belly clenched. “Your son.” Of course. Of course he couldn't stay. He had a child in his country. A child
he loved above all others. And if he even contemplated leaving his son to be with her, he'd be no better than the jerks she fought against in court.

Irony sucked.

There was no way this could work, she realized, her heart plummeting into her shoes. Her life was here, and his life was in Emand.

Zayad stroked her hair. “This man you battle, this man who cheats and lies on the woman he is bound to, does not deserve his child.”

Anger and disgust filled his tone. Two emotions Mariah felt, as well. But she detected more than anger. There was a thread of disappointment, maybe even fear, in his voice. She didn't know his history, what he and his family had been through. She couldn't help but wonder if it played a part in those hidden threads of emotion. Or if what she was hearing was just his feelings regarding Redet and his mother.

She tilted her head, stared up at him. So handsome, so chiseled—such the look of the warrior about him. He made her weak with desire, yet his conviction and spirit made her admire him so much.

“Kiss me?” she said.

Fire lit his eyes, and he bent and covered her mouth with his own. All thought of anything but love evaporated into the gentle morning breeze floating in from the suite's French doors.

 

There were ten messages on the answering machine when they got home at noon, and Mariah knew she was in big trouble. All but three were from Jane.

There were several “This actress is making me insane
and I need to vent,” a few “Where the hell are you?” and one “Call me back or I swear I'm going to call the police.”

After changing her clothes and telling Zayad she'd see him later, Mariah picked up the phone. She paused before dialing, a little shocked at herself. She hadn't told Jane where she was going and what she was doing. She'd completely forgotten her soul sister, her mind totally focused on Zayad. After allowing a man to rule her thoughts and actions for many wasted years, she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that.

“I could kill you right now,” Jane barked, sounding far more relieved than angry.

Opting for a lighter mood, Mariah teased, “If only you weren't a hundred miles a way.”

“Right.” She took a breath. “So, how's the ankle?”

“Much better,” Mariah said. “Listen, sis, I'm sorry I didn't tell you where I was going. It was just so spur-of-the-moment, ya know?”

“No, because you haven't done anything spur-of-the-moment in I don't know how long. Especially with a guy.”

“This guy,” she almost sighed, “as difficult as it is for me to admit, makes me forget my name, my responsibilities, my—”

“Mind?” Jane asked, her mild irritation morphing into an affectionate chuckle.

“Yes, actually.”

“I can't believe you've fallen for our neighbor.” Jane snorted. “It's so
Peyton Place.
”

“He's not going to be our neighbor for very much longer.”

“What do you mean? Where's he going?”

“Back to his country.” The words felt like sandpaper on her tongue.

“What? He's leaving you after all this.”

Mariah took a breath. For the four years that she and Jane had been roommates, she'd always thought that Jane was the one who had done the influencing—her great food, her positive attitude. Some of that stuff had actually rubbed off on Mariah—or the hope that it would have rubbed off, especially the cooking part. But the truth was, Mariah and her negative, supposedly realistic, views on life and love had rubbed off on Jane, and now she was spouting that fear-based crud back at Mariah.

Irony really did suck.

Mariah didn't want to be the poster girl for sad women anymore. She'd tasted love again, and even though it might not last, it was spicy and addicting and she wanted more, no matter what the consequences.

“Jane, the thing is, he has a son. He can't stay here because he wants to be close to him. You know how I feel about that.”

Silence ate up a moment or two. “Sure. Jeez, of course I do. What about going with him?”

“He's never mentioned it, and I'm not going there.”

“Why not?”

“I won't push him. That'll only make me look desperate and make him feel cornered.”

“But maybe he needs—” Jane never finished her sentence as a shrill shout from the other end of the phone had her cursing.

“I gotta go, M,” Jane said. “Cameron Reynolds calls. I'll see you in a couple of days, 'kay?”

“'Kay.”

“And don't do anything you'll regret.” She laughed, then stopped. “Wait. What am I saying? Go for it. Hang from the chandeliers, order up some whipped cream and kinky toys. You of all people deserve it.”

Mariah was still laughing as she hung up. She wasn't into kinky, but a few more nights like last night would be fabulous.

She walked over to the window and looked out over the backyard to the little house where her man of the moment was working out.

When they had been in the suite, it had been all romance all the time. But now they were home. Would things be different? Awkward? After all, he wasn't caring for her anymore—the invalid Mariah, that is. No, now they were lovers, friends, sharing each other.

She pushed away from the window and went to her computer, switched it on. When emotions ran high, she looked to her work for focus and perspective. Sure, she had a love affair going on, but her client was counting on her for help.

She had to win this case. And though the pictures Zayad's friend had taken might not help her win it, perhaps there was something in there that might help or get her thinking.

She snatched up the fax Zayad had tossed on the counter next to her mail, and settled into a chair to study it.

 

Sweat dripped down Zayad's temple to his jaw as he wielded his sword. Slashing left, then right and right again as he moved across the hardwood floors. His
breath coming heavily, he made a quick turn, shot the blade to the ceiling and thrust it back down, halting just centimeters from the curve of a ripe apple.

He grinned. Yes, his son would do well with this sword.

The thought of Redet brought on more thoughts of family, and as Zayad reached for a towel on a side table, he realized that just two days remained until his sister returned. He had found out much from Mariah and was ready to know Jane for himself, ready to tell her the truth and take her back home.

He had not left room for her to refuse him and her title. He could not. Duty remained above all else, and Jane must understand this fact, too.

He held up the Scottish sword, turned his wrist to see its lines.

He recalled something his father had once said. “The heart of every blade is the steel from which it is forged.” This blade was a combination of iron and carbon, a perfect blend that allowed him power and flexibility. In the ancient days, power had been most important. But as times changed and people opened their minds to new ideas, a balance was needed. Zayad and his people also had changed to serve the times.

Zayad glanced out the bay window to his right. Afternoon had melded into sunset without his knowledge. It was always thus when he took his exercise.

In that moment, his mind left politics and focused on something far more pleasing. Mariah. He had only two days left with her and he wanted them to be as wonderful and as pleasurable for her as possible. Surely when she found out why he was here and why he had
not been forthcoming about his identity, she would want nothing more to do with him.

His gut clenched. He was a fool, but he did not want her to know who he was. He wanted things to remain as they were.

For the first time in his life someone was not aware of his role, his fortune, his title. Mariah cared for him as a man, not as a prince. And for that he would always be in her debt. Starting with her court case.

“Dinnertime.”

Zayad turned, and his body went rock hard, fast.

There she stood, moonlight at her back, draped in a thin white cotton tank and little white cotton shorts. She looked ready for bed, not for dinner.

But then again, he mused as he walked to her, he could always be persuaded to eat dessert first.

“I
was wondering where we'd end up,” Mariah said, burrowing deeper into the warmth of his chest.

Last night they had forgotten all about dinner and had gone straight to bed, where they'd quickly stripped back the sheets, then stripped each other bare.

Two hours later they'd fallen asleep. Two hours after that Mariah had woken Zayad up with a kiss in a very sweet, very sensitive spot.

Needless to say, the rest of the night had pretty much followed this pattern.

Zayad kissed the top of Mariah's head. “What is this ‘end up'?”

She laughed. “Between our two apartments. I wondered if we were going to end up in your bed or in mine.”

“Ah, well, as long as we are in bed together, yes?”

“Oh, yes.”

Dawn broke with resplendency outside her picture window, and Mariah sighed. She watched the morning's creamy yellow light creep in and hint at a beautiful day. A bright sunny day was always in favor, but for Mariah it really wouldn't matter if a hurricane blew in. She wasn't about to let anything bring her mood down. She was savoring the time she had left. She had just one day with her man until Jane returned and things got different and…well, back to normal. There would be questions asked—questions she didn't even want to look at, much less answer right now.

Since the day she'd smashed into this amazing man, she'd been having the time of her life. And as long as the fantasy kept rolling along in this perfect manner, she had a ticket to ride.

She let her hand trail down Zayad's chest to his belly, let her fingers brush over his navel. “I like sleeping in the same bed with you,” she said, having no fear of how vulnerable she sounded. “I thought I'd never like sharing a bed. I've grown accustomed to being alone, sleeping alone, living alone.”

“You do not live alone.”

“I wasn't talking about sharing space. I meant inside my heart. I'm alone inside my heart. By choice, of course, but…”

“There is comfort in being alone at times. Even in the heart. Sometimes such detachment protects us, no?”

“You bet.” She sighed, slid her knee across his thigh, the weight of her boot slowing the process a bit. “I spent four years protecting myself, maybe longer.”

“And now?”

“I don't want to do it anymore.”

“Even if that means being hurt again?”

“Even if that means getting my heart shredded to bits.”

Zayad put a hand to her face and tilted her head, looked at her with complete bewilderment. “How can you say this after all you have been through?”

“Because I've been slowly dying these past four years. Sure, I was protecting myself all the while. But a life built out of fear is no life at all.”

“I try not to think such thoughts.”

“Why? Because you believe that things shouldn't change or because you're afraid of what will happen if they do?”

He stiffened, and the light, loving mood of a moment ago was lost.

“I'm sorry.” She shook her head. “That was wrong and pushy of me. It's your life, your choice.”

He gave her a dusty, glum smile. “We do what we must. And our changes come in our own time.”

She nodded, then put her head back on his chest. He was right. Even though he had been the impetus to her change, her acceptance of life after a hideous divorce, maybe he wasn't ready to move away from his tricky history. Maybe, like her, he needed to fall in love to get there.

Her heart actually squeezed with pain, but she mentally shook it off. Zayad may not love her, but, unlike her ex and the losers in the courtroom, he had integrity. He'd never promised her anything, never told her he loved her, then snatched away her trust by cheating and lying.

No. He just wasn't ready.

She came up on her elbow, gave him a winning, playful smile. He had done so much for her, been a caretaker, a friend, a lover. If he was going back home in the next week or so, she wanted to make sure he wouldn't forget her—or the time they'd spent together.

“Any plans for today?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Oh.

She looked away. Of course he had other things to do. Not every day could be a play day. And she could use the time to work and clean up the house and…

His hand was on her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. “After my physician takes a look at your beautiful ankle, I have plans with you, mi'nâr.”

“Are you going to tell me what that means?”

“Perhaps one day.” His sexy black eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned. “I was thinking about the beach.”

Her heart skipped and she smiled in return. “A picnic lunch?”

“Yes, with a little wine perhaps.”

“And sand-castle making.”

His brow furrowed. “What is this sand castle?”

“You don't know what a—” She waved her hands, tried to look aghast, but just ended up laughing. “I'll show you. You're gonna love it. After all, it's an artistic endeavor.”

 

Zayad sat back in the warm sand and smiled. He was excessively proud of his work, but today that did not seem to be enough.

Curious.

He had never needed anyone's approval.

He glanced at Mariah, magnificent in a pale blue bikini, her curves making him tight with need, her smile making him wonder if true happiness might not be possible after all. She was different from any woman he had ever known. He would admit this much. He also would acknowledge that he wanted her opinion, her praise.

No. He needed it.

Gesturing toward the shape he had created in the sand, he asked, “How does my structure look?”

“Fabulous,” she said, her hair whipping in the breeze like a golden sail. “It looks like something out of a Disney movie.”

“Does it? Well, this is no imitation of a movie set, mi'nâr. This is the sultan's palace in Emand.”

“Really?” She looked impressed.

“Without the wondrous gardens, swimming pools and other exterior additions.”

“Of course.” She laughed. “Well, it's pretty fancy, not too mention insanely enormous. The sultan must get lost just getting up to brush his teeth.”

“I am sure he knows his way.” Zayad's gut clenched. This charade had started out with purpose and understanding, but now it had turned into a lie. A cover-up. He was not proud of this. He did not want to continue deceiving Mariah. He cared for her too much now. He would tell her the truth. Tonight.

For a moment he wondered why he had not revealed himself sooner. He knew it was not because Mariah would tell Jane before he had his chance. Well, it might
have been initially. But over the past few days he had wanted nothing to interfere with their affair. Nothing. Not even his duty, not even his honor.

The knowledge clawed at him like a Feron scorpion. He had deliberately cast aside the good of his country for this woman, and his principles for their pleasure. Perhaps it was good he was leaving soon.

“Is this a new palace,” Mariah asked, tugging him from his thoughts. “Or one of those ancient places you read about in the history books?”

“To the people of Emand, it is timeless. The royal family has lived in the palace for centuries.”

“Do you know their history pretty well?”

“I do.”

“The current sultan—is he old? Does he have several wives and many kids?”

“Actually he is unmarried. And in Emand, though the old customs are still accepted, the royal family has always taken just one spouse.”

She smiled as a wave crashed behind her. “I like that.”

“Yes, most Americans do.”

She laughed. “And I like you.”

His chest went tight at the compliment. A simple compliment. But it held great truth and significance. This woman did not know that the man they spoke of, the wealthy prince who lived in a golden palace, was the very same man who had made love to her all through the night, the same man who wanted more than anything to make love to her again right here, right now.

No.

She thought him an ordinary man and she liked him.

He took her hand and kissed the palm. “What else do you wish to know?”

“Have you seen this sultan up close?”

“I have.”

“What's he like? Dictatorial, fierce, demanding?” Her eyes shined with intrigue.

“He has a country to watch over, Mariah. There are times when he must be all of those things.”

She nodded. “Of course. It's funny, we make royalty sound so romantic, but it isn't always that.”

“It is rarely that…I imagine.”

“What an incredibly hard job. But I'm sure he has many advisors to help him.”

“Many, but surprisingly they are not as competent as he would like.” He knew he should stop at that, but he did not. It was glorious to speak of such matters with a true friend. “This can be a source of frustration for him. Emand has many social-rights issues he wishes to address. It is not easy to turn around centuries of fears and prejudices and foolish ideas. But things are slowly coming along.”

She grabbed a bottle of suntan lotion and squeezed a bit out into her hand. “This sounds like one forward-thinking sultan.”

Her admiration pleased him. “I am proud to say that he is.”

She dabbed the sunscreen on her cheeks and nose. “To right many wrongs, to help closed-minded people see beyond their senseless fears—that's a great job.” Suddenly her shoulders fell, and she sighed. “It was the job I set out to do.”

“You have.” He reached for her and pulled her into his arms. “And you will continue to do this.”

“I hope so.”

“Enough of these low spirits now.” He helped her to her feet, grabbed her hand. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“Do you not like surprises, mi'nâr?”

Mariah warmed at this new and wonderful endearment Zayad kept calling her, and she squeezed his hand. “I never have liked surprises much, but the ones you keep cooking up are slowly changing my mind.”

He turned to her and gave a little bow. “I hope that I may always grant you extraordinary surprises.”

All thoughts of work and fears of failure were snatched away in the salty breeze. Mariah shivered with excitement as they walked away from the seaside and their castles and into the beach grass.

“I found this place the day after I moved here,” Zayad told her as he led her down the side of a smallish sandy hill.

The sound of the waves crashing against the shore still clung in the air, but no longer were they amongst the public. Zayad had found a private refuge, a lovely cave.

The hollowed-out rock before them beckoned for strangers to enter, and they did. Mariah had no clue what to expect—damp, smelly, dead fish…who knew?

But she couldn't have been more wrong.

All the seaweed and wet earth and rock she'd expected had been cleared away. In the center of the cave, sitting atop clean sand, was a large and very colorful carpet. And on top of the carpet was a picnic lunch.
Actually it was a feast. Meats and cheeses, salad and fruit and cake and wine. She could see this very well indeed, as there were several gashes in the rock wall where seductive little shards of sunlight peeked in.

She'd never seen anything like it and imagined she never would again.

Zayad urged her to sit on the carpet, a shaft of warm sunlight piercing her shoulder and thigh. “I thought we should have our privacy,” he said, falling down beside her.

She took in his hard chest and sinewy thighs and fairly sighed with desire. “How did you do this? When did you do this?”

He grinned, took a piece of melon from a plate. “I asked a few…friends to assist me.”

“Nice friends. This is incredible.”

“I am glad it pleases you.” He guided the sweet melon into her mouth.

Didn't he understand that he constantly pleased her? “You've spoiled me for other men, Zayad.”

She hadn't meant to say that aloud. She'd been trying to be playful, complimentary—and maybe, in some crazy way, honest about how much she cared for him, how over-the-moon in love with him she was.

But there was nothing playful in those black eyes of his. No, they burned with ire.

“I do not want to think of you with another man,” he said gravely.

“Neither do I.” Hell, she didn't want to think about another guy for the rest of her life. “Or you with another woman.”

“I want no other woman.”

“I know. Not now, but—”

He put his hand on hers. “Please. Let us eat, yes? I despise this subject.”

So did Mariah, but she couldn't stop herself from going there, from thinking about his future and hers without him in it. But she knew she must. If only to preserve their last day together. “This spread is something else. And I'm starved.” She grinned, leaned in and kissed him, hoped that her gesture would inch them toward playful once again. “I've worked up an appetite building that palace.”

He tossed her a wry grin. “Did you now?”

“Yep.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Fine, I wasn't actually involved in the building part, but I did haul all that sand and water. You got to give me that.”

“Yes, I give you that.” He looked as though he wanted to say more, but he didn't. He filled a plate with food and handed it to her. “Come. Let me serve you.”

They ate their pretty picnic lunch. They talked about her case, his art and their shared penchant for raspberries. Time flew by and before they knew it, afternoon had appeared, taking away the pretty sunshine and replacing it with shady beams of gray and the drumming sounds of rain on the cave's roof.

Mariah cleared away the dishes and placed them at the entrance to the cave. When she returned to the carpet, she eyed Zayad, looking all too handsome with his black swim trunks, mussed black hair and fiery gaze. “Looks like we're not going anywhere for a while.”