Crowned At The Desert King's Command (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 15

  There was tenderness in Charlotte’s eyes, a warmth that had nothing to do with sexual heat, and she put out a hand, cupping his cheek as if he was the precious thing, the thing that might break.

  His chest ached, a heavy weight pressing on it. The consequences of the vacuum in which he’d been trying to breathe for so long. The vacuum that seemed to be suffocating him, after all.

  Yet not when she touched him. The contact of her fingers on his cheek, the clutch of her sex around his, the heat of her body and the warmth in her silver-blue eyes were all lifelines containing oxygen.

  It felt as if they were the only things keeping him alive.

  He took a shaken breath, then another, and when her fingers trailed along his jaw the pressure on his chest lifted. He took another breath, right down deep into his lungs, and it felt like the first breath he’d ever taken.

  And when he moved inside her, deep and slow, it felt as if the pleasure was another lifeline too, another strand connecting him to her.

  Her lovely mouth curved, her darkening gaze holding him as fast as the grip of her sex around his shaft, and he couldn’t look away.

  She could see him. She could see who he was deep down inside. She could see that lonely little boy and she was reaching out a hand to him. She was pulling away the barriers around his heart as if they were nothing but paper. Putting out her hands and holding him.

  Holding him as if he was worth something.

  He couldn’t stop her. Couldn’t stop himself from wanting that touch, craving the way she held him, reaching to grasp all the lifelines she was throwing him.

  He moved faster, harder, holding on tight to her as he drove into her, their shared breathing fast and ragged in the room. And her hands were on him, stroking him lightly and easily as he drove her down into the cushions. As he felt the pleasure beginning to take him apart.

  ‘Charlotte...’ He hadn’t meant to say her name—not like that. Not so deep and dark and desperate. ‘Little one...’

  Her arms were coming around him, her thighs tightening, embracing him in a way no one had ever held him before. The immensity of his hunger was a tidal wave of need washing up inside him, all the years he’d spent alone crashing down on him.

  But he wasn’t alone. Not now. Because now he had her. She was his wife and she could never leave. She was safe.

  The thought stayed with him as he tore her hands from his body and pushed them up and behind her head, holding them down with his own. And it glowed brightly as he thrust harder into her, the couch shaking with the force of it, burying all the heat and desperation inside her with every flex of his hips.

  And she met every thrust, panting and as wild as he was, his name on her lips as she arched and moved beneath him, the pleasure becoming more intense, more raw with every movement.

  It was too much to look at her. The wild blue of her eyes ripped him apart. And he only had time to shove his hand between them, stroking her sex hard and sure, feeling the wave of her climax hit as she convulsed beneath him.

  Then he was following her, his own hitting him, stealing every breath from his body and every thought from his head.

  Minutes or maybe hours later, the feel of her hands drifting down his back returned him to himself and he tried to shift his weight off her. But she made a little protesting sound, her nails digging into his hips, clearly wanting him to stay where he was. So he did, propping himself up on his elbows instead and looking down at her.

  She didn’t speak, and neither did he, and for long moments he simply let himself be lost in the endless blue of her eyes.

  ‘My father wanted to disown me when he found out what I had told Catherine,’ he heard himself say, giving her the final piece of himself—the piece he’d told no one else about. ‘He called me a disgrace...said I was unworthy.’

  There was tenderness in her eyes, and sympathy too. ‘Your father was wrong about a lot of things, Tariq. And most especially that.’

  He wanted to disagree with her, but that was a question for another day. Right now there were more important things to do. Like picking her up and carrying her to his bed. And then maybe, after they had sated themselves again, they could even have a conversation.

  ‘I am not letting you leave, ya amar,’ he said. ‘You understand that, do you not? You are mine.’

  Something in her face relaxed—a tightness he hadn’t noticed before. ‘I know. You’ve said that before, believe it or not.’

  ‘I am not joking.’

  One fair brow rose. ‘Were you joking before?’

  ‘Let us just say that I did not know that I was in a vacuum.’ He paused, holding her gaze. ‘And that I needed air in order to breathe.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHARLOTTE WAS IN the middle of yet more language lessons with Amirah when one of the palace servants knocked on the door of her suite, issuing a summons to Tariq’s study.

  It had been a week since he’d taken her in the library, when it had felt as if the earth had shifted beneath her and something had changed between them. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how he’d said he needed air to breathe, and had looked at her intently, as if she was the air. He hadn’t said it outright, but she’d felt it. As if he’d finally discovered the connection that had been forged between them back in the oasis.

  He was such a lonely man—a man desperate for someone—and she’d tasted desperation in his kiss. Felt it in the way he’d taken her. It had made her heart twist in her chest, made her want to give whatever she could, coax his rare and beautiful smile from him. Make him laugh. Take the loneliness from him and give him comfort instead.

  So she’d spent time over the past week doing things with him that weren’t based either around sex or his duties as ruler. Things that friends did together. A relaxed dinner by the fountains, talking about nothing in particular. Watching a movie in the palace’s own cinema. An outing into the city, where he’d shown her a few of his favourite places. A horse ride into the southern hills.

  They had been special moments. When he hadn’t been the king and she hadn’t been his queen. When they’d simply been Tariq and Charlotte, enjoying each other’s company.

  She didn’t know why she wanted to do this for the man who was keeping her from her family and friends and who’d pretty much forced her to marry him. But she didn’t let herself think too deeply about it. Being with him made her feel less lonely, and that was enough. In fact, for the first time in her life she felt wanted—and not only that but needed too. Needed by a king.

  That fact alone had given her a courage and strength she’d never known possible.

  After the summons arrived she let Amirah go for the rest of the day, then made her way through the palace corridors to Tariq’s study.

  He was sitting behind his vast desk as she came in and closed the door behind her, glancing up from his computer screen as she approached.

  This past week she’d been the lucky recipient of quite a few of his smiles, but not today. His expression remained grim and a sense of foreboding stole through her, making her feel cold. Then he stood and came around the side of the desk, and abruptly she felt even colder.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked as he approached.

  ‘I’ve just had word that your father had a heart attack last night and has been taken to hospital.’ His voice was level and matter-of-fact as he stopped in front of her, reaching for her hands and taking them in his own.

  Shock echoed through her. ‘I don’t...’ She tried to get her brain working. ‘Dad’s in hospital?’

  Tariq’s fingers were warm as they wrapped around hers, and when he drew her to him she didn’t resist, needing the strength of his tall, muscular body, because suddenly she was afraid she might fall.

  ‘Yes.’ His deep voice calmed her somewhat. ‘As I said, he had a heart attack.’

  ‘How bad is it?’

>   ‘They’re not sure. I spoke to your father’s doctor myself, and it appears that it may take some time to see how severe the damage is. But it’s entirely possible that he’ll make a full recovery.’

  Charlotte swallowed. Tariq’s warmth surrounded her, and the heat of his skin burning against her numb fingers comforted her.

  Her father wasn’t perfect, but he was her father all the same, and although he hadn’t exactly made her feel wanted, he had taken care of her after her mother had left. He’d fed and clothed her, given her a roof over her head and ensured she’d got a decent education. He’d never been actively cruel or abused her. But now he was sick. Now he was alone...

  She couldn’t bear the thought of that. He might not be the world’s greatest dad, but that didn’t mean she could leave him in hospital with no support. He had no other family except her. Besides, she wasn’t like her mother—she couldn’t simply walk away when someone needed her.

  Charlotte lifted her head and stared up into the hard gold of her husband’s eyes. ‘I have to go to him. I have to go back to England.’

  There was sympathy in Tariq’s expression, but his voice when he spoke was firm. ‘The borders are closed, ya amar. You may not leave.’

  ‘This is different. Dad’s ill.’

  Yet he only shook his head. ‘It does not matter. I cannot let you go.’

  ‘Why not?’ She frowned, not understanding. ‘Surely this is allowed? He’s sick. And there’s no one else to take care of him.’

  The planes and angles of Tariq’s fiercely beautiful face hardened, the warmth that had been there before fading. ‘That is what a hospital full of doctor and nurses is for, is it not?’

  ‘But...he’s my father, Tariq. And it won’t be for long, I promise.’ She squeezed his hand in reassurance. ‘I’ll just see that he’s okay and then—’

  ‘No.’ Tariq’s voice was flat, and all sympathy drained abruptly from his expression.

  She blinked at his tone, instinctive anger licking up inside her, and opened her mouth to tell him he was being unreasonable.

  Then she caught a glint of what looked like fear in his golden eyes.

  Her anger disappeared as quickly as it had risen.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked quietly, because it was clear something was. ‘This isn’t just about Dad, is it?’

  His features had turned forbidding, as if she’d seen something he didn’t want her to see.

  ‘You are my sheikha. You cannot simply leave the country whenever the mood takes you.’

  ‘This is not a “mood”, Tariq.’

  The glint in his eyes blazed unexpectedly, his grip on her hand tightening. ‘I do not care. You are my sheikha and your place is by my side.’

  Her heart clenched at the intensity in his face and the fierce note in his voice. At how much he needed her. And part of her didn’t want to push him or argue, because she liked it that he did.

  But this was important to her. And, anyway, she would come back. It wasn’t as if she was going for good.

  ‘I know,’ she said, trying to sound calm. ‘But it won’t be for long, I promise. Only until I know what’s happening with Dad and then I’ll be back.’

  The ferocity in Tariq’s expression didn’t lessen. ‘You have no idea how long it will be. And what if he needs long-term care? What if he is hospitalised for good? What will you do then?’

  ‘I’ll work something out. It won’t be an issue.’ She reached up to touch his cheek, wanting to soothe him. ‘Please don’t—’

  But he didn’t wait for her to finish, releasing her all of a sudden and turning away so that she touched nothing but empty air.

  Charlotte stared after him as he stalked back to his desk, her heart beating faster. Something was wrong and she didn’t know what it was.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked into the tense silence. ‘You know I’ll come back. I will, Tariq. I promise.’

  He was standing with his back to her, looking out over the gardens through the window, the line of his powerful shoulders stiff with tension. ‘I have been promised things before. Promises mean nothing.’

  ‘But, I can—’

  ‘No.’ He turned sharply, pinning her with that fierce, hot stare. ‘If I let you go, what will bring you back? Me?’

  She stared at him, bewildered. ‘Of course. You’re my husband.’

  ‘A man you were forced into marrying. A husband who keeps you here against your will.’

  ‘Yes, you’ve done those things, but it’s different now. I said I’d stay and I meant it. I’m your wife, not to mention your friend. I would never walk out on you.’

  ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘I cannot risk it.’

  ‘Tariq—’

  ‘My father kept everything that was good from me when I was growing up and I told myself that I did not need it. But you have made me see things differently, Charlotte. This week you have made me see what I have been missing. You have made me see what I need. And now I have that I do not want to give it up.’ Fire burned in his eyes, a deep, fierce amber. ‘I told you that you were mine and so you are. And I do not give up what is mine. I will not.’

  He was afraid—she could see it in his eyes. He was afraid she wouldn’t return.

  ‘You can trust me,’ she said, trying to calm him. ‘I give you my word.’

  Anger flashed across his intense features. ‘Do you think that I am a skittish horse that needs soothing? I have been lied to before, so do not think that your “word” will work.’

  Of course. Catherine and her promises to him. But, no, this went deeper than Catherine. This was about his father. This was about himself.

  Automatically, she opened her mouth to say something that would ease his anger, and then stopped.

  Why? Why are you always placating him? When you know he’s being unreasonable?

  That was a very good question. And it was a question she didn’t have the answer to. But, no, that was wrong. She did have the answer. She just didn’t want to acknowledge it. She wanted to pretend it didn’t exist.

  Except it did exist.

  It was staring her in the face and had been for weeks.

  She always wanted to soothe him and comfort him because he mattered to her. Because she loved him. She’d been in love with him since the moment he’d taken her in that tent at the oasis.

  Charlotte’s chest tightened as the knowledge swept through her, overwhelming her, making it hard to breathe, making her feel dizzy.

  Her mouth was as dry as the desert and she was afraid. Because she knew all about love. Love was pain. Love was listening to her parents scream at each other over her head. Love was watching her mother give up on her and walk away. Love was the ache that cut deep inside every time her father looked at her as if she was nothing but a nuisance to him.

  Love was giving everything and getting nothing in return.

  She stared at her handsome husband, her heart roaring in her ears. Stared at the man to whom she was slowly, little by little, giving away the pieces of her soul. And he was taking it. He was keeping it for himself and giving her nothing back.

  And you’ve done that before, haven’t you?

  Of course she had. With her father. Being quiet and good for him...not causing a fuss as a child. Helping him with his career and being his dogsbody as an adult. Trying and trying to get him to look at her with something more than impatience and frustration. To see her as his daughter and not the millstone around his neck that she suspected he thought she was.

  You tried to make him to care. But he never did. And now you’re doing the same with Tariq.

  ‘You’re very clear about what you want,’ she said suddenly, hoarsely. ‘But what about what I want? Does that not matter at all?’

  His expression was hard. Cold. The mask of the sheikh.

  ‘What has that got to do with an
ything?’

  ‘Answer the question.’

  Something flickered across his face and then it was gone. ‘That is not a requirement.’

  An empty, hollow feeling opened inside her. He didn’t care what she wanted, which meant he didn’t care about her.

  Did you expect that he would?

  Maybe she’d hoped. Maybe that was why she’d never looked too closely at her own feelings. Because she knew she wouldn’t be able to bear the disappointment if he didn’t feel the same way. But he’d told her in the tent at the oasis that theirs would only be a physical marriage, and she’d been okay with it back then. She hadn’t expected or wanted more.

  Except things had changed. He’d given her physical pleasure, made her feel beautiful, and then, over the past week together, he’d given her his friendship. He’d made her feel interesting and special. Desirable, sexy and brave. He’d made her feel needed.

  And that was the problem.

  He’d made her want more.

  He’d made her want to be loved.

  ‘It’s a requirement for me,’ she said, her voice cracking.

  And just like that the fierce expression on his face closed, like the door of a furnace shutting, depriving her of all its light and all its heat.

  ‘In that case perhaps you are not as suited to life here as I expected.’

  His voice was hard as stone, his gaze as pitiless as it had been that day she’d fainted in front of him.

  ‘Perhaps it would be better if you returned to England, after all.’

  Somewhere deep inside her she felt a tearing pain.

  So much for all your hopes. If he can give you up so easily, then he really doesn’t care.

  He stood on the other side of the desk and the distance between them felt vast, cavernous. He was so isolated, and so lonely, and there was a part of her that wanted more than anything to bridge that gap.

  But she wasn’t the same woman she’d been a couple of weeks ago. She’d found a strength inside her she hadn’t thought possible. And she was tired of giving everything of herself to someone who would never give anything back. She didn’t want to do it any more.