The Sultan's Bed Read online

  She sucked in air.

  He eased out of her and blew his warm breath over the tense bundle of nerves at her core. “You taste like heaven, mi’nâr.”

  She moaned, fisted sand.

  Slowly, achingly slowly, he slid his tongue upward, between her wet folds. Back and forth so slowly, building her toward the most intense climax of her life.

  “Zayad, please,” she begged.

  “What is it you need?”

  “You…faster…please.”

  “I cannot.” He swept his tongue back over her. “I must go slow.”

  The intensity burned inside her. Her nipples were hard beneath her bathing suit top. Wet heat leaked from her onto the carpet. And outside the cave the waves roared and crashed against the sand while the rain continued to fall.

  And then Zayad raised the stakes.

  His tongue on her, his breath on her, he took his hand from beneath her bottom and slipped three fingers inside her.

  Mariah shook, shuddered, grabbed a fist full of his hair and rode him, bucked against him. Zayad pushed deeper and she couldn’t hold on. With a cry she climaxed against his mouth.

  In the glowing aftermath, Mariah reached for him, wanted him to slip inside her. But surprisingly and sadly he didn’t. Instead he held her tightly against him, kissed her hair and followed her into sleep.

  Thirteen

  The road was puddle after puddle, and Zayad wished he were back in the cave beside, beneath or on top of Mariah.

  But good things had to come to end, yes?

  And as the afternoon had worn on and the rain had subsided, they both had known it was time to go. Once in the car, Zayad had secured Mariah in her seat with the seat belt, a blanket and a kiss, then headed away from the beach and toward home.

  Now only the sound of the radio could be heard as they drove. He thought about what would happen when they got home, when Jane returned tomorrow. Mariah was doing a little work beside him. She scanned the photographs Zayad’s man had taken of her client’s cheating ex-husband. She looked contemplative and uneasy. Zayad felt suddenly protective of her and wished she would put the photos away and talk to him. There were issues they had yet to discuss—not amusing issues but important ones. For instance, she had not asked him why he’d pulled her into his arms after making love to her in the cave, instead of pulling her beneath him. He knew it was on her mind. It was certainly on his. If she did ask, he was prepared to say that he had no protection. Which was the truth.

  But there was more.

  Much more.

  He had been ready to make love to her, with or without protection. He had wanted to feel her inside and out, with no barriers, and had been ready to damn the consequences.

  This fact had scared the life out of him, and he had forced back his desire and given her all the pleasure he could afford.

  If he were honest with himself, he would admit that Mariah Kennedy had captured his heart—or what remained of it—and that he did not want to leave California in one week’s time.

  “Ohmigod!”

  The outburst had Zayad jerking to attention. He glanced her way. “What’s wrong?”

  She was holding up a photograph, staring intently at it. “I can’t believe this.”

  “What is it?” Zayad asked.

  “There is something here.” She shook the photograph, grinned. “Something we missed before.”

  “What?”

  “Or something I missed.”

  “Mariah, you make me crazy,” Zayad said, exasperation threading his tone. “Suspense in such matters as these is cruel.”

  “Sorry.” She grimaced. “What we’ve got here is a blue Tiffany’s box and an engagement ring.”

  “I do not understand.” Zayad pulled off the main road and shoved the truck into Park.

  “Look at this.” She pointed to the photograph of the cheating couple at dinner. “He’s slipping a ring on her finger.”

  Zayad took a closer look. It was as she said. The man was placing a small diamond on the woman’s left hand. “Yes, I see. But as you said before, this man’s proposal happened in the present. He and your client are now divorced. It does not matter if he is with another woman.”

  Pure childlike excitement glistened in her tiger’s eyes. “Unless he bought this for his mistress when he was still married.”

  Zayad paused, thought about this. “Go on.”

  “In the credit-card statements I went through during their marriage, there was a charge from Tiffany’s. When I asked my client about it, she told me she knew all about it and that it was just a birthday present for herself and the twins—they all have the same birthday. And the amount didn’t raise suspicion because he’d always given her and her children extravagant gifts.” Mariah shrugged. “So I didn’t check it out.”

  Zayad shook his head. “I do not understand. He obviously did purchase these gifts.”

  “Yes, but maybe he added a small engagement ring to the bill knowing his wife would never check a birthday gift charge.”

  Her meaning became clear as glass and Zayad grinned. “You are brilliant.”

  She blushed. “Nah.”

  He laughed, momentarily forgetting that he did not belong with this woman, and allowed himself the pleasure of basking in her happiness. “I knew you could do this.” His gaze swept over her covetously. “My man is still digging. Perhaps he will find something more on this man’s past, and with this new development you have unearthed, your client will have her children yet.”

  Mariah granted him the most beautiful of smiles. “Yes, I’m starting to think that could really happen.”

  “What did I tell you?”

  “That I might just win this case.”

  “And you will listen to me more often, yes?”

  She shrugged, said playfully, “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her breathless as rain began to fall once again against the windshield. “I want you,” he uttered.

  “I want you, too, but—”

  “But perhaps we should get home?”

  She moved to his ear and nibbled gently. “Car sex always sounds like fun, but I can’t think it actually would be.”

  He grinned. “Agreed,” he said, though at this particular moment, with Mariah’s breath and teeth against his ear, he did not care overmuch about where he yanked down his zipper and placed her atop him. But it was her wish that they wait, and until he left, she was his princess. He would do as she bid him. “We should both take a few hours of work, yes? Then find each other for dinner?”

  She nodded, her eyes flashing almond fire. “And dessert?”

  “Raspberries?”

  “Yes.” Her gaze moved over his face. At first she looked hungry for more than raspberries, but then a look of melancholy shuttered her eyes.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  She took in a breath. “I don’t know. I’ve just never known a man so unselfish.”

  Unselfish? She could not be speaking of him, especially not when it came to her. All his moments, his choices, had been based on what was best for him—for his country, though they were one and the same.

  Turning from her, he pulled away from the curb and back onto the road.

  “And so supportive,” she continued.

  His fingers gripped the steering wheel. “I am none of these things.”

  “You are. The men I’ve known would never be so supportive.”

  “Your ex-husband did not support your work?”

  “No way.”

  “Why do you think this was?”

  “He never liked competition, in work or out.”

  Zayad sniffed arrogantly. “He wished to feel all-powerful over you, over his life. This is sad. He was a fool.”

  “For a long time I thought this was just how men were.” She put her hand on his and he shuddered. “But you don’t need to feel all-powerful, do yo
u?”

  The question nearly forced a brittle laugh from him. He was ruler in his country. He was all-powerful. But did he need this from those he cared for, women who were talented and intelligent and could debate and prevail? He believed not. Not now… “Everyone wishes to feel strong and competent in their lives, and I will admit in my younger years I exerted my authority over others for personal gain. But this childishness has thankfully left me.”

  “I’m glad. It’s no way to live.” She squeezed his hand, played with his fingers, then asked, “When did it leave you?”

  He could have tossed out an answer—ten, twelve, fifteen years of age. But that was not true. The woman who had borne his child had been the one to send him out of childhood and into manhood. This and Redet were his only reasons for wishing the woman well.

  As he pulled into their driveway, he said, “At twenty-one I was forced to realize that love and respect could not be commanded, forced or cajoled. It was a good lesson and one I intend to teach my son.”

  Admiration and something fearfully close to love swam in her magnificent eyes. He wanted to look away, did not want to see how she felt, did not want to get lost in her.

  But for a moment he could not help himself.

  Thankfully she turned and grabbed the door handle. “I’d better get to work. See if my assumptions are correct.”

  He nodded. “I had a wonderful day.”

  “So did I. Thank you.”

  Without thought he leaned in, kissed her tenderly on the mouth, then let her go.

  It was only after she had closed the front door of her side of the duplex that the irony of that gentle action hit him full force.

  Later that night they dined at her small but cute kitchen table. It was no cave with carpets and ocean strains, but Mariah had made the setting as romantic as she could. Candles and flowers from the backyard, wine goblets and Tara’s silver.

  She was pretty sure she’d done a bang-up job until Zayad said, “You are the very worst cook, Mariah Kennedy. A wonderful legal brain with legs to make a man sweat, but a cook—sadly no.”

  Mariah laughed. “I know. I’m completely hopeless. You didn’t think it was possible to screw up spaghetti, did you?”

  He held up a piece of limp pasta with his fork. “How long was this pasta cooking?”

  “I got distracted.”

  “With work?”

  No, not work, she thought. With him. Her brain was all about him. But she couldn’t tell him that. She couldn’t tell him that she’d been sitting at the kitchen table contemplating the future—specifically the weeks after Zayad left. No, she’d already billed herself as head over heels for him. Her eyes fairly dripped with love. She sure didn’t need to tell him about her future career as a salesgirl for the self-help tapes Pining for the Perfect Man.

  She filled his wineglass, then gave him another piece of bread. “Yes, I was thinking about my case.”

  “Do not worry, Mariah. I have told you it will go smoothly. Especially now that you have spotted the flaw.”

  “You’re right. I know you’re right.”

  “It is a rare occurrence, but it does happen.” He grinned. “You have confirmed the Tiffany’s receipt, yes?”

  “Yep. It was just as I’d thought.”

  “Very good.”

  A sudden breeze shot in through the open kitchen windows, sending the candle flames into a wild dance. Here they were having dinner again, kind of like normal people. A couple. Yet they were anything but normal and they certainly weren’t a couple.

  Mariah’s heart dipped and she decided to switch topics. “So, have you spoken to your son?”

  “Just one hour ago, as a matter of fact.”

  “How is he?”

  “He is well. But I will see for myself soon enough.”

  She nodded, swallowed hard. Maybe they needed to get this out in the open, say what was on both of their minds.

  Obviously Zayad thought so, too. He reached across the table, took her hand. “I miss my son and my home, yet…”

  “Yes?” she said, foolishly hopeful.

  “The thought of leaving fills me with a deep sadness.”

  “So don’t leave,” she said with a light chuckle, though she felt anything but light.

  “I must.” He took a swallow of wine. “It is complicated, Mariah.”

  “It always is.” She eased her hand from his and started gathering up the plates still heavy with her droopy pasta.

  He grabbed her wrist. “Do not revert back inside yourself.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are. For days you have been free and easy and happy.”

  Didn’t he get it? Free, easy, happy, sexy, desired—it all came with him.

  “I want you to understand my position,” he said, clearly unwilling to release her so she could pout and pretend his departure meant nothing.

  “I do understand, Zayad. You have Redet and a life there—”

  “I must be in Emand. You are right—my life is there.” A struggle went on behind his eyes. “A responsibility that is unlike any other. Now, if you wished to come with me, that would be a different—” He stopped cold, his dark skin going ashen. “What I mean to say—”

  “No, please.” She stopped him right there. She couldn’t hear him take that back. Not if she didn’t want to cry herself to sleep for the next two months. “Let’s not say anything more tonight, okay? I can’t hear you backtrack and I can’t hear myself help you do it.”

  “Mariah…”

  “Please. Let’s just enjoy tonight.”

  He nodded, then gently coaxed her from her dishes onto his lap and into his arms.

  By the flickering light of a single bedside candle Zayad pushed into Mariah’s body. Hot, tight and wet, she closed around him, embraced his erection.

  He groaned, a deep muffled sound against her neck.

  He took her mouth, made love to her lips, her tongue, as he raised his hips, then thrust into her again.

  His body was weak tonight and he couldn’t wait. As soon as he felt her shudder beneath him, he quickened his thrusts and let his head drop back. His body shook, the sweet headiness of orgasm taking him while he allowed his mind to fall wonderfully blank.

  Fourteen

  “Honey, I’m home.”

  A woman’s cheerful voice rang through the duplex like a thousand bells. Zayad stirred beneath the sheets, trying to register the sound and where it had come from, but his mind was still muffled from the lack of sleep last night, as he had paid sweet penance for his slip in control the first time around.

  Rolling to his side, he reached out for Mariah but snagged only cool sheets. On alert now, he looked up, bright sunlight accosting his vision. She was gone and he was alone. His chest felt heavy. For the first time in his life he did not like waking up alone. It was a dangerous admission, but sleeping beside Mariah had been wonderful, and he would not mind if such an occurrence happened every night.

  He shuffled out of bed and reached for his clothes. He threw on his pants and yawned. He was still buttoning his shirt as he walked into the living room.

  But it was not the woman he expected to see lounging on the couch, leafing through a pile of mail. It was a woman he had longed to see, a woman who shared Sakir’s long, lean body and his youngest brother’s full mouth.

  The beautiful dark-haired young woman looked up, startled. “Oh, hello.”

  “Hello.” Such intensity of feeling ran through his blood as he looked at her. “You must be Jane.”

  “Yep, but you’re not Mariah.”

  Humor glistened in her eyes. In that, she was her mother’s daughter. His heart squeezed. His baby sister stood before him, and he was practically speechless.

  She inspected him. “So, you’re the man who’s making my roommate’s heart go pittypat.”

  “Pittypat?” Confusion hit him and he shook his head. “I surely do not pity her?”

  She laughed. “No, no. It’s an expression of how a heart beats. I
meant Mariah likes you, that’s all.”

  “Ah. Sometimes the English slang is unintelligible.”

  “For me, too, sometimes.” She glanced around. “So, where is Mariah?”

  “I am not entirely sure, but if I had to guess, I would say she went to check on something for her case.”

  Jane sighed. “Always working. I hope the two of you did more than work while I was gone.”

  He sat in the chair opposite her. “There was much time spent on folly.”

  Her grin widened and she grabbed a picture of her and Mariah off the side table. “Good. She needs folly, and by the look of it—” she glanced up “—so do you.”

  He returned her grin. She had humor and fire in her blood. She had the soul of an Al-Nayhal—wise, quick. His father would be proud. “Perhaps we can discuss something else? I do not wish to speak of my time with Mariah.” The thought of leaving her was killing him, and the sooner he dealt with the reason for his coming in the first place, the better.

  Jane shrugged. “Okay.” Though in her eyes he saw a little unease.

  “Let us talk of you.” He sat forward in his chair, ready to hear the wishes and dreams straight from his sister’s lips. “Tell me of your passions and your pursuits. How long have you been a chef?”

  She looked uncomfortable now but did not evade the question. “Five years.”

  “I am sure you are very good at it.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I know,” Zayad said with deep conviction. The Al-Nayhal family excelled at their pursuits. “And you wish to open a restaurant, I hear?”

  “Yes, I do.” She looked around, at the door, at the picture of her and her friend. “Who told you that? Mariah?”

  “Mariah and your mother.”

  Her head popped back. “You met my mother?”

  “On two occasions. She is wonderful.”

  “She is. The best parent a girl could have.”

  “As was your father—”

  She shook her head almost vehemently. “I never knew the man. He died before I was born.”