How to Seduce a Sheikh (7 page)

Zafar set the bracelet down on the edge of the fountain and sank down onto the cushions, holding his hand out in invitation. ‘I have never talked of this,’ he said.

She took his hand and held it to her cheek, pressing a kiss on his palm. ‘Tell me.’

He gazed into her eyes, the colour of the night sky.
Tell
me
. It was like the rush of a wave formed from a swell, breaking suddenly and unstoppably to shore, the need to do just that, to unburden himself, to share the guilt in the hope that she might just be able to help him dissipate it. Clasping her hand tightly in his, he began.

‘We had been married for just a year. We were in the desert, making camp at an oasis in the next kingdom. It was a routine visit. We had been allies for some time. I would not usually have taken Afifah with me, but she had just discovered she was expecting our child and had developed a morbid fear of being alone. I thought it was safe.’

He closed his eyes on the memory of that morning, Afifah teasing him, pleading to travel with him, torn between tears and laughter as she had been since first telling him about the baby. ‘Our tent was set apart from the others. There was no guard—I didn’t think we needed one. Afifah was having trouble sleeping. I had not thought she would be so foolish as to stray from the tent alone, but she was young. She had been raised in the old-fashioned way in a harem. She knew nothing of the dangers of the desert. And I—I thought there was no danger.’

His brow was clammy with sweat. He felt sick. So many times he had replayed the chain of events in his mind, castigating himself at every point when he had missed an opportunity to change the outcome. Beside him, Colette sat silent. He could sense the tension in her. He raced on. ‘I heard Afifah call out. She was only a few feet from the tent, but it was far enough. There were five of them. She was thrown onto the camel as I reached her. I fought like a dervish. I killed two and mortally wounded a third, but the others spirited her away. By the time I had my own guards roused, we were miles behind them. But I followed them, Colette. I thought they were random marauders, but I was wrong. An old enemy with a long memory had commissioned some mercenaries to abduct her, knowing that I valued my wife’s life more than my own. They left her body where they knew we would find her. She was—She had been defiled. I cannot describe—When I saw her—When I saw her...’

He dropped his head into his hands, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. Colette put her arms around him, trying to pull his head onto her breast. He was tempted to surrender to the comfort she offered, but he did not deserve it and would not give way to such weakness.

Pushing her away, he sat up, taking jagged breaths. ‘What I saw will remain with me forever. I failed to save Afifah and must forever carry the burden of that failure. I vowed that day never to fail in my duty again.’

Chapter Seven

‘That was what prompted you to come to my rescue,’ Colette exclaimed. ‘That is where you got the scar on your face. And that is what you meant when you warned me of the dangers of the desert.’

Zafar nodded silently.

She was horrified by what he had told her. When he had seemed about to break down, she had assumed it was grief. But his grief had been replaced with anger and guilt, she saw now.

‘I am so sorry,’ Colette said tenderly, ‘but you must see it was not your fault, Zafar.’

‘Afifah was in my care and I failed her. I dispensed with the guard. I did not accompany her when she left the tent.’

‘You didn’t know she had gone.’

‘They took her because of me, Colette. She died because they wanted to hurt me. All I want is to bring peace and prosperity to these lands, but Afifah paid the price for my ambition.’

‘Zafar, it is the noblest of ambitions. I wish the same could be said for the wars my father and husband fought for France. I have seen many innocents die for the sake of Napoleon’s hunger for power.’

His smile was twisted. ‘Always you look at things from the best possible viewpoint.’

‘And always you look at things from the worst. Why not try my outlook for once? It was a terrible thing, a tragedy, but you must not let it dictate your life, Zafar.’

‘What do you mean?’

He was frowning heavily, warning her not to step over the mark, but she loved him too much not to speak out. ‘You told me once that although you must appear infallible to your people, you know in your heart that you are not. You did everything within your power to save Afifah, but there are some things that are beyond even your powers. It was not your fault.’

‘If I had ordered a guard to stand outside the tent. If I had not fallen asleep...’

‘If Afifah had not chosen to go outside without waking you. You cannot take responsibility for the actions of others, Zafar.’

‘She was under my protection.’

‘She was a grown woman with a mind of her own.’ He had a stubborn set to his mouth. Obviously she would not succeed on that front. Thinking like a general’s daughter, Colette marshalled her thoughts and tried another line of attack. ‘You are afraid it might happen again, aren’t you? You must be, else you would have married again. You have dedicated yourself to Kharidja in every way, yet you have not provided the one thing that is essential for the future, an heir.’

‘You don’t know what you are talking about.’

‘I do, Zafar. I know you very well. I think you are afraid it would happen again, and it is that fear that keeps you solitary, isolated and lonely.’

‘How dare you! I fear nothing!’

She flinched in the face of his icy rage but would not back down, for she was now certain she was right. Face the enemy without fear. Good old Papa! ‘Since Afifah died, you have let your enemies win, Zafar,’ Colette said, meeting his angry gaze fearlessly.

‘That enemy no longer lives. My vengeance was swift and merciless.’

‘But he still lives in your memory. He is victorious in death because he rules your life.’

‘I am ruled by no one!’ Zafar exclaimed.

‘You are angry because I am right.’

‘I am angry because you have no understanding of the matter at all. It is a matter of honour. I may as well have killed Afifah with my own scimitar, but I should not have expected a mere woman to understand that. At least I will be spared your homespun philosophy when you are gone.’

He turned on his heel and would have stormed out of the harem had she not caught his hand. ‘We have precious little time left, Zafar. Let us not fritter it away in pointless acrimony.’

For a long moment he simply stared at her; then suddenly she was in his arms and he was kissing her hungrily, greedily, devouring her with the kind of kisses that were completely lacking in any restraint. Passion flared like a shooting star. She threw her arms around him and kissed him back just as avidly, knowing that it meant nothing to him, knowing it was merely a result of the emotional turmoil his confession had generated, knowing it may be her one and only chance to make love to him, to really make love to him, without reservation.

His kisses were dark and deep. His hands moved feverishly over her body, tearing at her clothes in his hunger for her flesh. Colette was equally fevered, tugging so frantically at the buttons that held his tunic in place that they scattered across the tessellated floor of the courtyard. His belt dropped to the floor with a clatter. Her shoes, her sash, her pantaloons went the same way. He yanked his tunic over his head to stand before her naked, breathing harshly, his erection jutting. She pulled her own tunic away, casting it over her shoulder, wanting only to kiss, to stroke, to touch, skin on skin. His mouth brought her nipples to hard, aching peaks. She wrapped her hand around the silken hardness of his shaft, making him moan. His fingers slid inside her. She was hot, wet, tight. He was so hard he was pulsing in her hand. Their kisses grew wilder. She wanted no finesse this time, no slow climb.

‘Now,’ she muttered. ‘I want you inside me now, Zafar.’

He perched on the edge of the fountain, pulling her onto his lap, his hands cupped around her bottom as she sank slowly, deliciously, onto him. Her feet trailed in the fountain, the water cool, a delightful contrast to the inferno raging inside her. She clenched around him, holding him, forcing him to still as she kissed him slowly, deeply, and then she began to move, bracing herself on his shoulders, sliding away from him, then taking him inside her again, slow and hard. His eyes were glazed. His skin was taut, stretched tight across his cheekbones. Her nipples grazed the rough hair on his chest, sending little frissons of pleasure through her. She slid up and thrust down again, holding him so tightly that she could feel him throb. Her climax was not far away, but she held on, waiting for him, wanting him. Harder. Faster. Again and again. She felt his shaft thicken, causing her blood to thicken, her own muscles to tighten. One final thrust and he cried out, pulsing into her as she pulsed around him, spilling himself, abandoning himself to the power of his climax, surrendering to her for the first and only time.

‘I love you,’ she whispered, knowing he could not hear her. ‘I love you, Zafar.’

* * *

Firas proved as efficient as ever. Over the next few days the preparations for Colette’s departure were completed. Smarting at the accusations she had flung at him, confused by the intensity of their lovemaking, Zafar distanced himself from her, telling himself that the sooner she was gone from Kharidja, the sooner he could return to the relative calm of his old life.

In a few short hours she was due to leave Kharidja under escort. Zafar prowled the battlements gazing up at the night sky. He didn’t want her to go. He did not want to return to the solitude of his old life, but he had no alternative. The vow he had made when Afifah died haunted him. Colette’s accusation, that he lived his life in fear, taunted him. He feared no one and nothing. He lived as he wished and by no one else’s rules. He was Prince Zafar al-Zuhr.

He was also a man. And he was not, as Colette had pointed out so fearlessly, infallible. Afifah was dead and there was nothing he could do to change that. If he had placed a guard at the tent. If she had not gone out alone. If he had not defeated the man who arranged for her abduction in battle. If he had not spent his rule fighting for peace...

No, there were some things he would not, could not, change. For the first time, he could see that day’s events in the context of the preceding months, even years. It was not guilt he should feel but regret. Colette had taught him that. He could begin to imagine a future where he was not weighted down with remorse, driven by the need to atone. And he could see now that Colette was right. These past two years of his life had been a victory for his enemies. He was frozen in time by the vow he had made, yet to break it...

The only possible justification there could be to break it dawned on him suddenly. A feisty, fearless Frenchwoman. He was in love with her. Zafar shook his head in wonderment. How could he have been so blind? He was in love. Not the gentle, protective love he had felt for Afifah but a love every bit as feisty and fearless as the woman who had captured his heart. The woman who would leave tomorrow for her native land if he did not try to stop her.

Taking the battlement stairs in several bounding leaps, Zafar made for the harem. He did not know what her answer would be but he knew if he didn’t ask her, he would regret it always, and thanks to her, he was finally done with regrets. Throwing open the door of the harem, he called for Colette.

The courtyard was empty. Her name echoed around the terrace as he called, running frantically from room to vacant room. Panic clutched at his heart as he strode along the corridor, calling loudly for his man of business.

‘Where is she?’

Firas bowed. ‘You wished me to expedite matters, Highness.’

Zafar stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘What are you telling me?’

‘She is gone, Highness, just as you commanded.’

‘But she was not due to leave until the morning.’

‘She insisted, Highness. I think she wished to spare you the pain of a farewell. And herself, if I’m any judge.’

* * *

Colette sat straight in the saddle of the camel, trying desperately not to cry. Above her, the silver carpet of stars winked in the vast desert sky, oblivious to the forlorn woman beneath. For two days she had waited, telling herself that Zafar needed time to come to terms with the truths she had hurled at him. For two days she had nurtured a dwindling hope that he would seek her out, that they would somehow be reconciled before she left. On the third day, she knew he would not come, and she could not endure the pain of waiting, nor could she risk giving way to the more desperate urge to throw herself at him and tell him how she felt. Zafar had suffered enough guilt to last a lifetime; she would not add unrequited love to his burden.

She could not bear to say goodbye, and so she had left, quietly and unobtrusively. She would survive, because it was in her nature to do so. She would make the best of things because that was what a general’s daughter did. But she would never forget, and she would always love him.

They reached the tiny oasis where they would camp in the dead of night. Colette had been eager to continue, desperate to put as many irrecoverable miles between herself and Kharidja as possible, but the guide was adamant. The camels needed rest, and so too did she. Sitting at the mouth of her little tent, she was watching the small caravan of trusted guards take their meal when a cry of alarm went up.

‘Get in the tent,
madame
,
’
the guard urged. ‘Take this. Use it if necessary—it is loaded. Be assured I will die before I allow any harm come to you, for if it did, my own life would be not worth living,’ he said with a twisted smile. A gun was thrust into her hand.

She did as she was bid, crouching in the far reaches of the goatskin tent, her heart pounding. She could use a gun, of course; it was one of the accomplishments her father had insisted upon. Outside, a shot was fired. A shout, curses and then a stream of furious Arabic, followed by a dark shadow looming in the doorway. ‘Do not move, or I will shoot,’ she said, her voice tremulous.