The Sultan's Bed (9 page)

She nibbled on the cookie and tucked her feet up under her. “I know this is probably the last thing you want to hear, but it's part of the story. I thought your father cared for me a great deal. When he left, he told me he loved me. But we both understood that we belonged to different worlds. And of course, he had a family.”

“Yes,” said Zayad with mild tension.

“And I would never have messed with that. But I just couldn't believe that what we shared was all a lie. That he didn't care for me at all. And it kills me to know that he didn't even care for the life growing inside of me.”

Though Zayad hadn't come to ease the pain of his father's mistress, he knew he must say something. “I am certain he would have cared for Jane if he had known.”

“Known?” For the first time since he had met Tara, she looked completely unsettled. “Of course he'd known, he just didn't—”

“My father did not know of your pregnancy, Tara.”

Her brows knit together. “What?”

“He knew nothing.”

“No, that's not possible.” She shook her head. “His aide said—”

“The man did not inform my father of your calls or
of Jane's existence. He felt he was protecting my father and the royal family from—”

“Don't say it.” She put her hand in the air as though to block all negativity from reaching her. Then she let it fall, and her face fell along with it. “Are you really telling me the truth? He never knew he had a daughter?”

“He did not.”

“So, he didn't lie to me.” It wasn't a question. A look of hope crossed her features, and she took a moment to just breathe. Then suddenly she looked pensive again. “Why have you come to America, Zayad? Why have you sought out Jane? To tell her about her heritage or to see if she's worthy enough to accept it?”

“Both.”

She nodded, her lips thin. “You will not hurt my child.”

“I have no intention of hurting her.”

“She's innocent. I never wanted to burden her with stories of her father. She knows nothing of this.”

“She must.”

Tara paused, bit her lip, shook her head. “Yes. I suppose so.”

“I want to talk with her when she returns from Los Angeles.”

“No, I will tell her when she comes to me next week.” She nibbled more on her cookie. “As much as it pains me, we all have to know our truths.”

Zayad nodded, agreeing fully. Truth could be a bitter pill to swallow, but there was no way to escape it.

“And what of my other child?” Tara said.

Zayad's brows drew together. “Mariah?”

An almost sad smile hovered about her lips. “She's
growing fond of you. She hasn't looked twice at a man in ages. To be honest, it scares me to death.”

“She has nothing to fear from me.”

“You're going back to Emand, right? To your work and your life.”

“Yes.”

“And you're going to leave her here broken-hearted. I've been there, Zayad. In love and alone. It's not something I wish for Mariah.”

“Mariah does not have such feeling for me.”

“Maybe not right now but soon. I see it in her.”

“You see—”

She smiled. “I sense it. Please be careful. With both of my girls, okay?”

“I will.”

When Zayad pulled away from the center, he felt as confused as ever. He had wanted to hate this woman, to tell her that his father could not possibly have loved her, to laugh at her story and admissions of care for the sultan. But he could not and did not, as those were the reactions of an affronted child.

He took each curve of hill a little too dangerously. He was beginning to feel something new—an out-of-control feeling that worried him. He wished he could speak of his fears with Mariah. He did not know why, but he felt close to her, a friendship as well as desire. But it was unwise to engage her in emotion. If what Tara had said was true, he could only allow himself the closeness of skin and sweat and desire.

A shot of disappointment went through him, and he despised himself for feeling so. When had this soft side where women were concerned overtaken him?

The ocean came into view.

He knew exactly when. It had been early evening several days ago, and a frustrated but heavenly lawyer had run headfirst into his chest.

 

He had surprised her.

Mariah had been under the impression that after several awesome spa treatments they'd be heading back home. But no. After her last treatment, a wonderful woman had come for her, led her out of the spa building and into the hotel portion of the inn. With just a sentence or two of explanation she'd left Mariah in the most gorgeous of suites overlooking a small lake littered with ducks.

Zayad had arranged this, the woman had told her. He wished for Mariah to relax and he would be here in an hour for dinner.

Mariah wanted to feel shocked by his boldness and maybe muster up some pangs of anxiety about the whole thing, but she couldn't get herself to feel anything except excitement.

Well, that and a little frustration that she hadn't brought anything but the casual clothes she was wearing. She was going to have dinner in this magnificent suite overlooking a lovely lake during sunset and she had no fabulous outfit.

Of course, she didn't own all that many fabulous outfits to choose from. And what really went with a brown ankle boot?

But when she walked into the white bathroom, she saw that Zayad had further surprises in store. Her toiletries were set up on the counter, and the two prettiest
dresses she owned hung on the shower rod, along with one she didn't recognize. It was a pale yellow silk slip dress, very beautiful and very expensive looking.

Without a thought she knew Zayad had bought it for her and she also knew she was going to wear it tonight.

After a quick shower, a long blow-dry and some light makeup application, she let the chef in, then reclined on the couch and waited for her date to arrive. As she sat there, her senses being pummeled by the scents of roasted lamb and fresh rosemary bread, she thought about the afternoon and specifically about the massage table. Shivers of desire rippled through her, but there were far more nerve-racking sensations to contend with. For the first time in years she'd allowed a man to touch her both emotionally and physically.

She was opening herself to getting hurt again.

Maybe if she didn't view this affair as she had her marriage, she could cast aside her fears about getting hurt. There is no commitment here, no words of love spoken, no promises made. She didn't have to have expectations of him, only pleasure for however long it lasted.

As the door opened and Zayad walked in, she wondered if that were possible.

Looking unbelievably handsome in a black suit and a crisp white shirt open at the collar, Zayad stopped in front of her. “You look beautiful, Mariah. The color of the sun is magnificent on you.”

“Thank you, and thanks for the dress.”

“It is nothing.”

It was more than he could ever know. No man had ever bought her anything so personal.

“How was the rest of your day?” he asked.

“Wonderful.”

“And your ankle?”

She lifted her booted foot so he could see. “Much better.”

His gaze moved over her bare skin, from toes to midthigh. “Are you hungry?”

You have no idea.
“I could eat.”

“Our chef comes highly recommended.” He helped her to her feet and led her over to the preset table in front of the French doors. “Can I pour you some wine?”

“That would be great, thanks.”

The chef came out and placed the chicken, bread and salad between the white candles and red roses, then nodded at Zayad and left the suite.

When a curious Mariah turned to Zayad, he smiled. “I thought it best if we could dine alone. Is this all right?”

Alone with Zayad…

She smiled as much to herself as to him. “Of course.” She took a sip of the white wine, then asked, “So, what did you do today while I was getting pampered?”

He offered her some bread. “I had some business to attend to. One of which was planning our dinner.”

“Well, you did a great job. It's beautiful.”
And you're beautiful.
She looked up at him.
And I don't know if I can pretend this means nothing more to me than sex.
“Everything's perfect.”

Wineglass to his lips, he studied her. “Something is wrong.”

“No.”

His gaze bored into her. “Are you having regrets?”

“About what?” As if she didn't know.

“Allowing me to be your masseur instead of the Swede?” He reached across the table and took her hand. “For, you understand, I could not abide him touching you.”

Delicious shivers crawled up her spine. “Why?”

“I would not like it.”

She forced herself not to ask why again. “I don't think I would've liked it much, either.”

“Then I was wrong? You have no regrets?”

She shook her head.

He played with her fingers. “There is something I must tell you, Mariah.”

Oh, God, what? You're a woman? You have a woman? You want to bring a woman into our bed tonight?

She was going completely nuts.

He released a weighty breath. “I am only in California for a short time.”

Not icky, not perverted, but definitely not good. “Okay.”

“I want to be…as honest as I can with you.”

“I appreciate that.”
Sort of.

“You see, my life is in Emand, my work, my son and—”

“Zayad, I understand. Really.” She didn't want to hear any more. She knew now that this affair would end. Heart strings really wouldn't be attached. Knowing that, she simply could enjoy herself with no worries about the future. His honesty, though heartbreakingly disappointing, was refreshing. For once a man wasn't lying to her. She gave him a soft smile. “Let's talk about something else, okay?”

He took her hand and kissed it, then released her and reached for his wine. “What other treatments did you have, and were they as good as your massage?”

Flirting. Yes, this she could do, this she wanted. “The body exfoliation was pretty good.”

“This is the one with sugar, yes?”

“Yep.”

“To make the skin softer?”

Mariah laughed. “I hope so.”

“I would be willing to judge this, if you would like.”

“You'd be willing, huh?”

He flashed her a devilish grin, stood up and walked around behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders, let his palms rake down her arms. “Yes. Very soft.”

She sighed, closed her eyes.

“But I feel I must explore further to make certain.”

His hand slipped inside her dress. Her breath hitched as he palmed her bare breast, as he let his thumb move back and forth over her swollen nipple.

She released a moan. Forget food, forget talking and flirting and getting to know each other more. They had waited long enough, hadn't they? She needed this. Her body needed this. Clearly he did, too.

She stood, turned and faced him. “Take me to bed.”

She waited for him to say no, not yet, after dinner. But he didn't. His eyes were black as ink and hot as hell as he nodded and said, “Yes?”

“Yes.” She smiled, knew she looked desperate, on fire, totally ready and willing.

Zayad lifted her up, and she buried her head in his neck.

M
ariah closed her eyes as Zayad laid her gently on the bed. She'd wanted this moment to happen, fantasized about it day and night, hoped against hope that Zayad was as into her as she was into him. But now that it was happening, she couldn't help but feel a bit self-conscious. After all, her last relationship had ended over sex. True, it had been her husband and another woman who had actually had the sex, but she'd always wondered if she'd driven him into that woman's arms—if she was a horrible lover.

But all thought died as Zayad lowered himself on top of her and claimed her mouth. The weight of him made her high, his chest smashed against her breasts, his erection pressed gloriously against her belly, the way he rubbed his lips back and forth over hers, swiped her upper lip with his tongue.

Mariah groaned with approval and arched her hips to meet him, her underwear feeling wet and confining. Her hands went around his neck, plunged into his hair.

“You want this, yes?” he uttered, tense.

“I want you,” she answered breathlessly.

Zayad tugged at the thin straps at her shoulders, then pulled her dress down. She wore no bra, and he looked ready to feast. With one hand he explored the fullness of her breast, his thumb and forefinger torturing her stiff nipple. With the other he snuck under her dress, over her panties, and palmed the swollen V between her thighs.

“You feel too good, Mariah.” He stroked her, quickly and lightly, then eased two fingers inside of her.

Her breath caught in her throat and her body quivered with the need to release. But she held on. She wanted to have him inside of her as she climaxed this time.

Zayad must have sensed her urgency or he simply couldn't wait. In seconds he had her dress off and his own clothing removed. And in mere moments his hands returned to her hot skin and his mouth found her nipple.

Heat pooled in her belly, and her hands raked down his broad back, down to his buttocks. She dug her fingers into his taut flesh, pressed him hard and rough against her. Desperation filled her. “Please, Zayad. I can't wait. I don't want to wait.”

He lifted off her, reached over to the side table. With deft fingers he quickly protected her. “I am without control tonight. Forgive me.”

She didn't understand him but didn't have time to ask as he rose up and positioned himself over her.

Her breath coming in gasps, Mariah spread her legs
wide. She was tight and he was large, but as he inched his way to paradise, she felt an all-consuming pleasure.

And then he was through and deep, and her breath caught in her throat.

He fit her perfectly.

Maybe this was different. Maybe this was the something real she'd never thought existed.

His eyes probed her soul as he dipped his head and kissed her hungrily. When he eased back from her mouth, he remained deep inside her, but his hand disappeared behind her head. He brought back a pillow, then easily slipped it under her hips without breaking their connection.

“What is this?” she asked.

“It will make your experience more fulfilling.”

“I don't think that's possible.”

His smile was soft, but his eyes were filled with intensity and heat. A heat she understood, and wanted to express. She squirmed beneath him. He grinned, this time with wicked intent, and he rose out of her, then pushed back in. His strokes were long and liquid as his pulse jumped in his temple.

Tension built like a rising dam inside her, and she knew she was close. She wanted to curse, wanted to cry. She wanted to stop and start again. But it was no use. And when he reached under her hips, lifted her higher, his rhythm changing, quickening, rising to a frantic pace, she leaped, then fell—sank into the waves and the quakes of pleasure, the heat and all of the beautiful electric pulses.

Zayad ground his hips against hers and called out in a husky male growl as his body quivered and shook. It was an amazing sight.

He dipped his head and kissed her again, a salty, searing kiss that sent another shudder through her. Then he sat up, brought her with him so they were both sitting, facing each other. It was an incredibly intimate gesture, and Mariah felt so connected to this man, she wanted to bury her head in his chest. But he wouldn't let her. He clearly had something to say.

“You have much passion, Mariah. But it has been buried deep, yes?”

Her throat went tight. “Yes.”

His hands found her face. “You must release it.”

Mariah stilled, not sure of what he was telling her. Was she not passionate enough? Her gaze fell. She felt as if she'd failed again. No wonder her husband had gone with another woman. Maybe she was frigid or something. “Am I a horrible lover?”

“No.” He chuckled, tilted her chin up so she was forced to look at him. “This is not what I mean. You are wonderful. You are a woman filled with heat, with deep thought and a touch so extraordinary it makes me hard as stone.”

“But—”

“There is no but.” Zayad kissed her. “Your body gave like no other. You were wild and wonderful. I want not just the pleasure but the hurt behind your eyes, as well. I must release it. I must make you release it.”

“Why?”

His gaze flickered, and he looked pained suddenly. “I do not know.”

“I really don't think it can be released, Zayad. Or maybe I just don't want to show it to anyone ever again.” The intimacy growing a little too tough to han
dle, she tried to move away from him. But Zayad wasn't about to let her feel her fear alone, much less let her leave.

“Tell me about this man who has made you question everything and everyone.”

She shook her head. She didn't talk about him, about what happened, to anyone. Especially not now.

“Tell me,” Zayad insisted.

He held her tightly and carefully, but held her to him until she finally said something. “He was handsome and charming and a great businessman—and one helluva good liar.”

“And why is he no longer your husband?”

“He didn't want me.” Tears threatened and she wanted to kick herself. “He wanted another woman instead.”

“He was a fool.”

She looked down.

He pulled her to him and lay back down on the soft pillows. “We must pity him. For he made many mistakes and they cost him the most amazing woman in the world.”

Mariah put her head to his chest, feeling emotional and confused. She took a deep breath. “No more of him. Tell me about your homeland. Make me think beautiful thoughts.”

“All right.” He kissed the top of her head. “Ah, Emand. Nowhere in the world is there a better place. Dawn is my time. I love it.” He played with her hair as he spoke. “The sun is just making its entrance. So slowly, you feel as if you have wasted many hours in its presence. Yet you feel no regret for it. The sand of
the desert is cool, a dirty brown color, before the sun meets it. Then it turns copper. The gardens are fragrant and lush, the mountains and lakes pure and untouched. The people, though deep in their traditions, are generous and forgiving.”

“Why would you leave such a place? Even for a short time. It sounds like paradise.”

He pulled her to him, held her tightly. “Business can take you away from even the most wondrous of settings.”

Neither one of them spoke after that. They cuddled and stroked until sleep took them both. Mariah went willingly into her dreams. It was the first time in four years she'd slept next to a man.

 

It was the first time in Zayad's life that he had slept beside a woman.

He had always appreciated being alone. There was a certain comfort in it, an understanding between himself and his lover that what had transpired between them in bed would not transcend his desire for solitude.

Zayad stood at the balcony window of their suite, watched the black sky being eaten up by the dusk that came an hour or so before dawn.

Last night he had consciously pulled Mariah into his arms and fallen asleep. He had wanted to wake up with her, wanted to make love to her again, wanted her open in both mind and spirit beside him. He wanted to rid her heart and mind of that bastard she had called her husband.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them hoping he would see gardens and beyond, miles and
miles of sand. He missed Emand. He felt like a boy for feeling that way, but it could not be helped. After all, he was acting as a child—forgetting why he was here, what he was after, all for the sake of a beautiful and enticing woman.

He heard her get out of bed, heard the rustle of a sheet as she walked. She came to stand beside him and he glanced her way. The washed moonlight illuminated the thin white sheet wrapped around her from breast to foot. Her skin looked soft from sleep. Her blond hair fell about her shoulders. She didn't say anything, just moved in front of him and splayed her fingers on his chest. He released a breath, and she let her fingers snake downward, over his belly, to the black hair below his navel.

He was hard before she fisted him.

Her eyes on his, she massaged him, stroked him, made him groan with need, then when he was ready to take her, she released him. Slowly she lowered to her knees, thrust his legs apart. His gut tight with anticipation, Zayad gripped the top of the doorway. Mariah cupped his buttocks with one hand and eased him into her mouth with the other.

Zayad nearly howled.

She let her fingers dig into his backside as she suckled him deep. Then she drew back and flicked the tip of him with her tongue. Zayad reached behind himself and took her hand, squeezed. He knew it was a sweet, sentimental gesture, but he could not help it. It was how he wanted her.

She pumped him slowly and deeply, and when he felt himself on the brink of release, he uttered a hoarse, “Mariah,” and eased her back and to her feet.

“We will find pleasure together, yes?” he said, his tone gruff.

Her lips wet, her eyes brilliant with desire, she pushed him back against the bed. Zayad grinned, for he knew she was casting aside her fears and taking control, taking what she wanted for the first time in a long time. But that smile quickly waned as she said, “Lift me up, put me on top of you.”

His mind near to exploding, Zayad forgot to think and did as she instructed. “Wrap your legs around me.”

“Yes.”

They were clumsy, awkward, but it didn't matter. He was sheathed and inside of her in seconds, thrusting furiously as Mariah held on for the ride. Her head fell back and he devoured her neck, his teeth raking down, his tongue smoothing up.

And when he slipped his arm to her waist and she fell farther back, he took her nipple into his mouth, pushed her into release, then followed her, exploding into the predawn air.

 

“We have photographs, sir.”

Sitting at a small glass table on the balcony of his suite, Zayad took a swallow of orange juice, then switched his cell phone to his other ear. “Are they worthy, Fandal?”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

With a quick glance to the door, Zayad grinned. When Mariah returned, she would be very pleased indeed. On his insistence, she had gone down to the spa to have a manicure and pedicure before they left for home. She had fought him on it, she wanted to stay in
bed, make love again. But Zayad had wanted to spoil her in more ways than sexual. If he had his way, they would fly to Los Angeles this very afternoon and he would take her to the finest shops in Beverly Hills—clothing, diamonds, anything she wished.

Many women he had known, including Redet's mother, would be vastly contented with such a plan, but something told him that Mariah would want nothing more than a lazy day in bed with him, holding him as he kissed her mouth, neck, breasts…. She had once had a man of means and had found it unfulfilling.

The thought made his chest tighten. He was growing contrite. He knew he must tell Mariah the truth—and soon.

“I would like to see one photograph,” he told Fandal.

“I can bring it to you, sir. As you know, we are just two floors down.”

He had almost forgotten. Almost. “No. Fax it to me immediately. Your best one.”

“Of course, sir.”

Zayad gave his aide the room's fax number, then hung up. He went inside and waited by the phone. In under a minute a photograph ambled through the fax. Zayad had it in his hands in seconds and looked it over thoroughly.

He grinned. His men had done well, and had laid four separate pictures on one sheet of paper. The top two were of the man and woman kissing outside a motel room. One of the bottom ones, though perhaps a bit too voyeuristic, was of the couple making love inside the room. And the last one was of the couple having din
ner in a restaurant, very close. Zayad did not want to know how his photographer had gotten these, nor did he care.

Suddenly the door to the suite burst open and Mariah entered.

“The manicurist had some bad Chinese and had to go—” Mariah paused, stared at the paper in Zayad's hand. “What's that? Work?”

He shook his head, held out the fax to her. “I told you I would help you. I have a man tailing your client's ex-husband at all times. These are photographs of him and his lover.”

Brow furrowed, Mariah made a beeline for the fax. She studied it hard from every angle, then looked up. “They're good—and you're amazing for going to all the trouble of helping me. Thank you.”

“There is a but, yes?”

She nodded, dropped the fax on the table. “I'm afraid they won't help my case.”