Crowned at the Desert King's Command Read online

  Don’t pretend you don’t know what he’s talking about.

  Her mouth was dry and she couldn’t seem to find any air. Because of course she knew what he was talking about—and it was something she’d conveniently not been thinking about. At least not until he’d kissed her.

  He meant sex.

  And he meant that he intended to have sex with her.

  Heat swept through her, burning everything in its path, and she had to turn away so he wouldn’t see the way her face flamed.

  ‘Of course I understand,’ she said automatically. ‘Goodness, look at the time. I have to—’

  ‘I would not want there to be any misunderstanding.’ There was no mistaking the intent in his words, or the dark hint of sensuality that threaded through his tone. ‘We have a certain...chemistry, ya amar. And I fully intend to explore that as thoroughly as possible.’

  A certain chemistry...

  He wants you.

  The thought blazed in her brain for a second, bright as neon. She hadn’t thought about how she might affect him—mainly because she’d been too busy thinking about how he affected her. But he’d kissed her for a long time yesterday, and the kiss had soon turned hotter, deeper. He’d become demanding, and his grip on her had tightened, his body responding. And then he’d let her go abruptly, with something blazing in his eyes that had looked like anger.

  She hadn’t thought about why he might have been angry—hadn’t thought at all about why he’d let her go either. She’d tried to put it out of her mind entirely.

  But maybe she should think about it. Maybe she had was some power she’d never expected to find.

  ‘I see,’ she said slowly, turning over the discovery in her head.

  ‘Do you? Look at me, Charlotte.’

  There was no resisting the command and she didn’t, turning back to him, her gaze clashing with his. And for a moment she was back in the desert, with the sun a hammer-blow of heat, crushing her with its force.

  ‘Tell me you understand,’ he said.

  She met the ferocity in his eyes, for some reason feeling less vulnerable than she had a moment ago. The knowledge that she wasn’t without power here was giving her a courage she hadn’t expected to feel.

  ‘I understand.’

  He stared back at her for a long, uncounted moment. Then he turned around and went back to the desk.

  ‘I suggest you do some research on the marriage customs of Ashkaraz,’ he said, sitting down. ‘Amirah will show you which books to read in the library. Some of them you should find quite interesting.’

  His attention was on his computer screen now, which obviously meant that she was dismissed.

  But that was good.

  She had a lot to think about.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  TARIQ HAD NEVER been one for weddings, and he hadn’t been particularly interested in the preparations for his own. Not when it was the wedding night he couldn’t stop thinking about. To a disturbing degree.

  Then again, focusing on physical pleasure had been better than going over his behaviour in his office the day she’d spoken to her father, and how he’d given in to the disturbing urge to comfort her.

  He still didn’t understand why he had, or why the need to do so had hit him so strongly. All he’d seen in her blue eyes was a flash of pain. And then she wouldn’t tell him what the problem was, so he’d gone around the desk, reaching for her and cupping her cheek before he’d been able to think better of it.

  A mistake.

  He couldn’t afford slips like that and he knew it.

  So for the past week he’d distanced himself from her, busying himself with his duties as well as with preparations for the wedding. And there had been a lot to prepare, since he wanted the whole business over and done with as quickly as possible.

  As per royal custom, the ceremony itself was being held on the palace steps, in full view of his people.

  Charlotte was robed in gauzy white silk, embroidered all over with silver and belted at the waist with a silver sash that had long sparkling tassels falling almost to her ankles. Her hair was loose, as was also the custom, and gleaming in the sun, and she wore a simple platinum circlet around her brow, with one of Ashkaraz’s rare blue diamonds in the centre.

  Her face was very pale as she appeared, and it went even paler as she saw the assembled crowds. But she didn’t hesitate as she was led to where he stood, alongside the officiant who would conduct the ceremony.

  His people hadn’t been given much time to come to terms with their Sheikh marrying a foreigner, but as soon as Charlotte appeared they gave her a hearty cheer. Apparently they were as susceptible to a white wedding gown as he was.

  And he was.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she joined him on the steps, all silvery and white and bright as the moon. Beautiful, too, and delicate. He hadn’t thought that would affect him, but it did.

  And as she recited the complicated vows without a single hesitation he was conscious of that dark satisfaction sweeping through him again—the same feeling he’d had in the baths that day. A feeling he’d not experienced about a person before. Not when his life had been all about feeling nothing for individual people at all.

  It was the whole that was important—at least that was what his father had taught him. His country and his people were what he ought to have uppermost in his mind. He did not need to concern himself with specifics.

  Yet he was aware, as her vows were being said, that he was feeling something very specific now—and that feeling was centred entirely on a person.

  Mine, the feeling told him. She is mine.

  He hadn’t had anything that was his before—not one single thing. All of it had been for ‘the Sheikh’ rather than the man. All except Catherine. And even she had been his father’s first. Never his.

  But Charlotte was. Charlotte was his completely.

  He felt almost savage as the vows were completed and their hands were joined. Her delicate fingers were cool in his, and he was already thankful for the traditions of Ashkarazi royal marriage that required the bride and groom to retire immediately after the wedding to an oasis in the south, sacred to the royal family, for three days, to ensure the getting of an heir.

  It should have been disturbing to feel this intensely about a woman, but it had been some time since he’d taken his pleasure, so it was no wonder that was all he could think about.

  After the vows and rings were exchanged, and the people had cheered their new sheikha, Tariq wasted no time in taking Charlotte’s elbow and whisking her from the palace to the helipad, where his helicopter stood ready to take them to the oasis.

  She gave him a startled look as his guards fell into step around them and he urged her along the path to the helipad. ‘Where are we going? Isn’t there a reception or a party? I read that—’

  ‘You read, presumably, about what happens directly after a royal wedding here?’

  She flushed, the colour standing out beautifully on her pale skin. ‘Oh, the sacred oasis. Of course.’

  The shy way she said it only made the savage feeling inside him grow more intense, and it was a good thing that there was no more opportunity for talk as they came to the helicopter.

  He helped her into it, bundling the long white skirts of her wedding robes around her, and a few minutes later they were in the air, soaring high over the city of Kharan and then following the long valley down to where the oasis was situated.

  It was about an hour from the palace, in isolated, rocky desert, and surrounding the bright green and blue jewel of the oasis were palm trees and grasses.

  The chopper took them down, and when it had landed Tariq helped Charlotte out. Palace staff had spent the last day or so setting up the tents that contained all the facilities both of them would need for three days alone, and a couple were still there to help unloa
d their luggage from the helicopter.

  Charlotte was silent as Tariq led her over to a low divan set under some shady palms, then went back to help with the unloading of the helicopter. He didn’t have to do it, but he couldn’t sit still waiting for everyone to leave. He wanted them gone, and quickly.

  Another couple of minutes later and the chopper was rising into the air and heading back up the valley to Kharan, leaving Tariq finally alone with his bride.

  She’d remained sitting on the divan under the palms in a pool of white and silver silk, her hands clasped in her lap, her silvery hair loose down her back. A smile curved her mouth as he stalked over to her, though he could see it was forced.

  ‘So,’ she said breathlessly, ‘I guess this is where we are. In the oasis.’

  He stopped in front of her, studying her face. A fine sheen of sweat gleamed on her brow, because it was only late afternoon and still suffocatingly hot, despite their proximity to the water. It wouldn’t cool down till well after dark.

  But he didn’t think it was entirely the heat that was making her sweat.

  She was nervous.

  His own need was beating inside him like a drum, and the urge to pick her up and take her to the bedroom tent was almost overpowering.

  Why the impatience? You have plenty of time.

  That was true. They did have three days, after all. And maybe it would even do him good to practise some restraint—especially after the incident in the baths when he’d almost forgotten himself. He was supposed to remain detached, after all.

  Yet he didn’t feel detached now. He wanted her skin damp and slippery from something other than the heat and her silver-blue eyes full of fire. He wanted more of the kisses he’d taken from her, and the taste of her latent passion on his tongue. He wanted to rouse it, stoke it. Make it burn for him and only for him.

  And why not? She was his wife now. And he’d told her that their marriage would not be in name only. She had always known what would be expected.

  But it was not her choice to marry you—remember that. You railroaded her into it.

  He didn’t know why he was thinking about that now. Not when his body was hardening, desire and possessiveness coursing through him. And it wouldn’t change the fact that although she might not have had a choice about the marriage, she still wanted him. He hadn’t forgotten the throaty moan she’d made when he’d kissed her in the baths, or how her mouth had opened beneath his, wanting more.

  Her attention was on him, she was watching him, and she must know what he was thinking because he could see that familiar flicker of apprehension in her eyes. But the heat he remembered from the baths was burning there too.

  Oh, yes, she wanted him. But she was afraid of it.

  ‘Do not look so frightened, ya amar,’ he said, a rough edge creeping into his voice. ‘I have already told you that I will not hurt you.’

  ‘I’m not frightened.’ Her hands twisted in her lap, her gaze darting around, looking everywhere but at him. ‘Could we perhaps go for a swim first? I’m rather hot.’

  His patience thinned, irritation coiling with the desire twisting inside him. ‘You are lying, Charlotte. And I have told you already that will not work. Not with me. And definitely not now we are about to consummate our marriage.’

  Her lashes fell. ‘I’m not lying.’

  ‘Then why are your hands twisting in your lap? And why will you not look directly at me?’

  She was already flushed with heat and now her cheeks went even pinker. With a deliberate movement, she unclenched her hands, laying them flat on the white silk of her skirts. Then her lashes rose and she looked at him.

  ‘There. Is that better?’

  ‘No,’ he said impatiently. ‘Do not play with me.’

  ‘I’m not playing with you,’ she shot back, and there was the slight edge of temper rising in her voice. ‘I’m only trying to—’

  ‘And do not try to placate me either.’

  He didn’t want to stand there arguing with her. He wanted to take her to bed. But her nervousness and vulnerability were making his chest tight and he didn’t like it.

  Detachment—that was what he had to strive for. Detachment and isolation. Not being concerned with another person’s feelings.

  ‘I’m not trying to placate you.’ Charlotte pushed herself to her feet, her cheeks red, her blue eyes full of anger. ‘I’m nervous, if you must know. I told you the truth in the baths when I said I hadn’t felt anything physically for a man before. I haven’t. But I feel something for you and I... I don’t know what do.’ She stopped, took a breath, and glanced away. ‘I’m a virgin. And I... I don’t want to disappoint you.’

  He went very still.

  She is yours completely.

  He’d suspected she was innocent already, and yet the possessiveness that deepened and broadened in response to her confession was almost shocking.

  Yes, she was his. Completely. And why she would think he might find that disappointing was anyone’s guess.

  ‘You should have told me,’ he growled. ‘That is something I need to know. And as for disappointing me...’ He stared hard into her flushed face. ‘Why would you think that?’

  Her jaw tightened, her discomfort obvious, but she didn’t look away this time. ‘You didn’t choose me because you wanted me, Tariq. You chose me because I was convenient.’

  ‘But you must know that I want you. Surely that kiss in the baths told you that?’

  ‘That doesn’t change the fact that you wouldn’t have married me if I hadn’t accidentally wandered into your kingdom.’

  ‘No, I would not.’ He couldn’t lie; it was the truth. ‘But what does that have to do with anything? Do you want me to feel something for you? Is that what you are asking?’

  Emotions flickered over her face, but they were gone so fast he couldn’t tell what they were.

  Then her gaze dropped again, her shoulders drooping. ‘No,’ she said. ‘That’s not what I’m asking. Forget I said anything.’

  It was not what he’d planned. And it wasn’t what he wanted. That tightness in his chest was back, and he didn’t know why the sight of her looking so defeated affected him the way it did. It reminded him of the expression on her face that day in his office, during her father’s phone call, the bright flash of hurt.

  Which shouldn’t matter to him. Her self-doubt had nothing to do with him. And yet he couldn’t let it go.

  He reached out, took her chin in his hand and tilted her head up so her gaze met his. ‘Do not change the subject. Answer me, Charlotte. Why do you think you would be a disappointment?’

  ‘You...are stuck with me.’ There was a catch in her voice. ‘And let’s just say that hasn’t worked out well for me before.’

  Her skin was so soft, so silky. He rubbed his thumb gently along her lower lip, unable to stop himself from touching her, the need inside him becoming even fiercer.

  But this was too important to interrupt. ‘Tell me,’ he ordered quietly.

  She let out a soft breath, her lashes falling again, the sunlight turning them to pure silver. ‘My parents had a very bitter divorce. My mother decided not to contest custody so Dad ended up with me. He was not...happy about it. Said it would affect his career.’

  Tariq frowned, staring down at her lovely face, conscious of yet another unwanted emotion threading through him: anger. On her behalf. Because what kind of father would say that to his child? What kind of father would make sure his child knew she wasn’t wanted?

  His own father had been strict, and Tariq had been so angry with him—yet Ishak had done what he had because he’d wanted Tariq to be the best king possible. Of course Tariq had ended up disappointing him in the end, but that hadn’t been his father’s fault. And he was making good now.

  And so was she. Sacrificing her freedom in return for her father’s. Making the best of m
arrying a complete stranger. Throwing herself into all the tasks he’d set her, learning his language and his customs without complaint.

  She is trying. Like you are trying.

  The need inside him twisted, deepened, ached. Became something more.

  ‘Well, you are not a disappointment to me,’ he said before he could stop himself. ‘You are the opposite. You are beautiful and loyal and you have done what you could in a situation you did not choose and did not want. You are everything I want in a wife.’

  There was something fearfully hopeful in her gaze as it searched his, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe him yet wanted to.

  ‘But I’m not experienced. I don’t know—’

  Tariq put his thumb gently over her mouth, stopping the words. ‘I do not need you to be experienced. I have enough experience for both of us. Now...’ He paused, letting her see what burned inside him: the desire for her. ‘I am tired of waiting, Charlotte. And I do not want to talk. What I want is to take you to bed.’

  Her lips were soft and full beneath his thumb, the blue of her eyes darkening. There was already a sheen of perspiration on her skin and wisps of hair were sticking to her forehead—not a good thing when what he was planning to do to her would make her even hotter.

  He frowned. ‘Perhaps you do need cooling down first, though.’

  ‘Oh, but I’m not—’

  Decision made, he didn’t wait for her to finish, dropping his hand and giving in to the need to get close to her by gathering her small, curvy figure in his arms.

  She gave a soft gasp, but didn’t protest, tipping her head back against his shoulder as his grip tightened, her eyes very blue in her flushed face.

  ‘I thought you were tired of waiting?’

  ‘Who says I will wait?’ He began to stride through the palms, anticipation coiling inside him. ‘A swim can involve all kinds of things.’

  She blinked, obviously thinking about this. ‘Oh. So you might...um...?’