A Bed of Sand Read online

  Six

  She wore the cream silk robe he’d chosen for her, Sakir noticed, a lethal combination of pride and savage desire rising up to claim him as he reclined in the bath.

  Just two days ago, he had glimpsed through several books brought to him by his personal shopper. Books of fine women’s clothing from all of the best houses in Paris and Milan. Granted, Rita owned many fine business suits, he knew, but she had little clothing that befitted a woman of her rank.

  A princess of Emand.

  Sakir let his gaze travel over her like a starving man. The pale silk clung to her hips like a lover’s hands. Her waist, small and supple, begged to be encircled. And her full breasts swelled pink and enticing beneath the gaping fabric at her chest.

  It was a good thing he sat in deep water, Sakir mused, as the lower half of his body was hard as the marble that surrounded him.

  With a cool smile, Sakir motioned toward the pool. “The water is warm and scented with herbs.”

  She glanced down at the water, then back up. She raised a brow at him.

  “Please join me, Rita.”

  Surprise remained steadfast in her eyes. “I think I’ll wait for my bath until later.”

  “I have never known you to be shy,” he said.

  “Only in certain naked situations.” She gave a smart little laugh. “I’ve been pretty busy lately—”

  “Planning a wedding?”

  “Right,” she continued on quickly. “So I haven’t been working out all that much. No crunches or leg lifts. And don’t get me started on the chocolate addiction that’s taken over my life.”

  Sakir slowly smiled. “I am quite certain that what dwells beneath your silk robe is a paradise that needs no apology.”

  Rita’s mouth dropped open and two splashes of pink stained her cheeks.

  Sakir was a little surprised at the bold compliment that had slipped so easily from his lips, but he did not retreat. He grinned at her, his brow lifted. “But I will keep my eyes averted, if that would make you more comfortable.”

  Rita snorted at this. “Not sure anything’s going to make me feel comfortable at this point. I’ll take a rain check, Sakir.”

  Behind Rita, Gana entered quietly, her arms laden with fresh towels. She was too fine a servant to show her confusion at the scene before her, but Sakir detected something behind her dark eyes. Perhaps she was wondering why a wife would still be clothed and dry before her husband. Her husband the sheikh…

  Sakir leaned back against the cool marble. It would not do to have Gana telling tales to his brother’s manservant about problems within Sakir’s marriage. His mission here was too important.

  “Wife,” Sakir began, using a tone he’d heard last from his deceased father. “I command you to join me.”

  Rita’s gaze shifted from apprehensive to savage blue fire in seconds. “Excuse me?”

  Sakir glanced pointedly at Gana, back at Rita, then lifted his brow.

  Rita’s lips thinned, clearly understanding his meaning, but she refused to budge.

  “I would ask that you obey me at once.”

  “Obey you?” she fairly growled.

  “Rita…”

  Eyes narrowed with annoyance, Rita muttered the word, “Fine.”

  In a great show of importance, Sakir put his hands behind his head, took a deep breath, smiled and waited for what would come next.

  Rita, on the other hand, looked stiff as a poker as she reached for the edges of her silk robe. “I can’t believe this,” she muttered. She bit her lip; then, suddenly, she stopped and gave Sakir an acerbic smile. “Averting the eyes would be good now, Your Highness.”

  His grin widened and he dropped his gaze to the bathwater before him. “As you wish, my love.”

  The first sound he heard was her snort of derision. The second sound was the tantalizing whisper of silk hitting tile. And the third, the soft splash of nude, pink curves meeting warm, scented water.

  Sakir felt tense, on edge with need.

  No doubt he would be damned for all eternity, but he could not help himself—his gaze flickered upward.

  Only a brief glimpse of her smooth belly and the soft curve of her breast were his.

  And only for a moment.

  But it was enough to cause him great torment in mind and body.

  He released an impatient breath. Only a moment ago, he had plied Rita with silly compliments about what was beneath her robe. Never could he have imagined how just a taste of that vision would send him reeling with a desire he’d never known.

  “Thank you, Gana,” he heard Rita say. “You can go. We’re good from here.”

  Sakir glanced up just in time to see the young servant’s back as she walked out the bathroom door. And just in time to find Rita glaring at him.

  “We’re alone now, Your Highness,” she said, her tone threaded with ire. “Any other commands you wish to give me?”

  The question gave him pause, as he saw himself lying beneath her, commanding her to take whatever she wished from him, whatever would please her. A very impractical and foolish vision, he concluded. “I apologize for my brutish behavior, but I am afraid it was a necessity.”

  “I sure hope so, because that was completely humiliating.”

  “I do not see how.”

  “Oh, really?” She waved her arm at him and lowered her voice, “‘I command you, wife.’ Not something you hear everyday around Paradise—or want to hear for that matter.”

  He chuckled. He could not help himself. She was so spirited. And…correct. “You did bring this on yourself, you know.”

  “How’s that? I just thought I was taking a bath after a long flight.”

  “You agreed to be the wife of a sheikh. This comes with certain…expectations.”

  “And you agreed to mutual respect,” she countered.

  Sakir paused, thought about this and then nodded. “True. You are right.”

  “Again,” she said, her eyes brightening with a tinge of amusement.

  “Do not push matters,” Sakir said, his chin lifted. “But yes.”

  She smiled. “And you apologize?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Rita felt the fight in her ease somewhat. Getting a man to admit he was wrong was a pretty tough task, but with Sakir such admissions were rare. She shrugged, her smile broadening. “You’re forgiven.”

  “Very good.”

  With all the talk of propriety and apology, Rita had forgotten for a moment that she was naked, in very clear water and close to Sakir. Feeling a little too exposed, she reached for a cluster of fragrant herbs and steered them toward her chest.

  “Oh, and Rita?”

  She glanced up. “Yes, Sakir?”

  “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  He sat there, staring at her—dangerous, sexy, his skin so dark and threaded with sinewy muscle.

  She swallowed tightly. “What do you mean?”

  His gaze dipped. “Your body is quite beautiful.”

  Her pulse skittered alarmingly. “You promised you’d look away.”

  He shrugged. “Normally, I am a man of my word, but—”

  “Not today?”

  His full mouth twitched with amusement. “I am afraid not. I am afraid the temptation was too great.”

  “I don’t understand you, Your Highness.”

  “What is it you do not understand?”

  “Back in Texas you were Mr. Straight-laced, Mr. Reserved, Mr. Concealed, Mr.—”

  “I understand, Rita, please go on.”

  “Well, now look at you.” She gestured at him.

  “What is it you see?” he asked with a smooth, sensual grin.

  Her stomach flipped over. Literally, flipped. “You’ve been home for an hour and you’re so…you’re…” The words—relaxed, teasing, on fire—died on her lips as Sakir calmly and coolly stood up and stepped out of the bath totally and utterly naked.

  “I am what?” he asked.

  Through the haze of desire th
at leapt from brain to breasts to belly, she came up with just two words to that query.

  My fantasy.

  Not an appropriate response, but oh, so true.

  Sakir stood there, above her, before her, resplendent, and she allowed her gaze to travel the length of him. His calves were hard and finely muscled; his thighs were lean and toned; his buttocks were sculpted and curved in at the sides.

  And then there was his pride. Long, pink and hard.

  Heat snaked through her heavy, tight body, and her breathing fell labored. She’d never thought such things in her life. And in such a way. It was being here, in this land of spice and decadent sunsets, that had her conjuring such descriptions. It had to be.

  “I will dress now,” he said.

  “Good idea,” she muttered.

  “I will send Gana to assist you. We have dinner in thirty minutes’ time.”

  He didn’t take a towel. Just walked back into the dressing area, his broad, tan back glistening with bathwater.

  Rita inhaled deeply, her body wound tight as a drum.

  She was in serious trouble.

  With a meek little whimper, she plugged her nose and sank beneath the herb-scented water.

  A half hour later, Rita stood in front of her bedroom mirror and smiled at what she saw. Exquisite blue and green silk encircled her torso and pooled at her feet. True, the dress covered her far more than what she was used to, but with the many beautiful items of clothing Gana had laid out for her, the traditional Emand dress had seemed perfect for a dinner at the palace.

  “Thank you.”

  Rita spun around, her heart in her throat. Just a few feet away, knee-bucklingly handsome in a white and gold caftan stood Sakir.

  “Thanks for what?” she asked.

  “Wearing that dress.” He walked to her, his gaze searching hers. “I picked it out myself, but I did not expect that you would want to wear it.”

  “Why not?”

  “In Emand, it is a fairly modern costume, but for an American woman—”

  “Well, for this American woman, it’s beautiful.”

  Sakir took her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed her palm. “You are beautiful, Rita.”

  Her heart thundered in her chest. From the bathwater to the bedroom, little had changed—in her feelings, at any rate.

  Lord, she thought, drinking him in. What in the world did she do now? Could she tell him he was beautiful, too? That she loved his kiss? Could she ask him to move a little closer? Whisper to him that she’d take that very same kiss on her mouth, her neck, her shoulder?

  Rita exhaled. What a crazy notion. He’d surely reject her. And she couldn’t handle that—not right now. Maybe when she got back to Paradise and they were going their separate ways…but not now.

  No, she’d just wait and see—and maybe hope a little, too—that Sakir’s transformation from perfectly balanced boss into sexy suitor would continue.

  She gave him a pleasant smile. “Thank you for the compliment.”

  Sakir nodded, placed her hand on his forearm and led her out of the room.

  Silence fell between them as they walked down the elaborate hallway. Rita wondered if he was having some of the same thoughts she’d been having. But, of course, she wasn’t about to ask. So instead, she racked her brain for some significant, yet light, conversation. “So, when you were a little boy did you run up and down these hallways like a maniac?”

  Sakir turned, gave her a wry glance. “What do you think?”

  Rita laughed. “To be honest, I can’t imagine you as anything but a serious child, Sakir.”

  “I do not remember a time when I was not.” He led her down the staircase. “Except…”

  His voice trailed off and Rita tugged on his arm. “Go on.”

  “It is an uninteresting anecdote, to be sure.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Sakir snorted.

  Rita laughed. “Don’t you dare leave me hanging like that. I’ll…”

  “You will what?” He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and found her gaze.

  She shrugged, said mysteriously, “I don’t know, but whatever it is, you don’t want to risk it.”

  “Perhaps I do.”

  Heat moved between them, solid and dangerous.

  Rita fought for her voice, which was lost in the haze of desire that shrouded them both. “I want the story, Sakir.”

  A grin ruffled his full mouth. “All right. I did have a rather fervent desire for figs as a child. I would do just about anything to have them.”

  Now, this was interesting. “Really? Like what?”

  He leaned close, whispered in her ear. “There was a night or two in which I scaled the palace walls and escaped into the dark night—”

  “Good evening.”

  The mood had been heated, sensual and intimate, but the steely timbre of the sultan’s voice brought a cold wind lashing between her and Sakir. They moved apart as Zayad walked toward them.

  “I trust you had time to relax and recover from your trip?” he asked with all politeness.

  “Yes, thanks,” Rita said.

  Zayad turned to Sakir. “And you, brother? I hope you have found some rest.”

  Rita watched Zayad, confused. Deep interest threaded his tone, as though he really cared about his brother’s well-being. She had been under the impression that Sakir and Zayad were at odds with each other, but Zayad’s manner, just as it had been when they’d arrived, didn’t hold an ounce of antagonism.

  Unlike Sakir’s cold indifference, she noted.

  “I would expect your staff has informed you of our every move, Zayad,” Sakir said.

  Zayad shook his head. “Still the cynic, brother?”

  “A realist, I think.”

  Zayad said nothing, merely nodded and then beckoned for them to follow. They left the hall and walked through several exquisitely furnished rooms. There were silk tapestries and gold moldings, jeweled frames with artwork that clearly belonged in a museum and priceless crystal chandeliers.

  It was a sight to behold.

  “Here we are.”

  Before Rita sat a massive dining room, done in red silks and velvet, with luscious gold accents. The splendor and sumptuousness of the room were to be expected after seeing the rest of the house, but Rita still felt in awe of her surroundings. A royal palace, to be sure. Very different than her comfy little two-storey back home.

  She was seated next to Sakir and across from Zayad at a table that could easily sit fifty. Candles burned cheerfully, and while the meal was served and the wine flowed, the conversation began.

  “How long will you be staying?” Zayad asked.

  After taking a healthy swallow of wine, Sakir said, “Three weeks.”

  “Is that all?”

  “I am afraid so.”

  “Your wife and I will hardly be acquainted in such a short time.” Zayad turned to Rita and smiled.

  “Pity,” replied Sakir, his tone as dry as the desert outside.

  Zayad continued to focus on Rita, perhaps knowing he wouldn’t be getting much out of Sakir tonight. “You once worked for Sakir, is that right?”

  “She still does,” Sakir said before Rita could answer.

  Zayad raised a brow. “Is that so?”

  Rita nodded, her mouth full of tomato and cucumber salad.

  “Ah, partnership in business and in marriage,” Zayad said. “How fulfilling.”

  “Yes.” Sakir glanced at Rita, his eyes a strange combination of heat and impatience. “It can be that.”

  With a quick nod to his personal servant, Zayad’s plate was filled with a luscious-looking beef dish. “Americans marry for love, do they not?” he asked Rita.

  “Most do,” Rita said, also accepting the fragrant meat.

  “We were never afforded such a luxury, were we, brother?”

  “No.”

  Rita smiled at Sakir. “Living abroad has its perks, doesn’t it?”

  A flicker of a g
rin touched his lips. “Indeed.”

  Zayad watched them, watched their interaction. “But you must pine for the desert of Joona, Sakir, and the waterfalls up north.”

  Sakir’s jaw went tight as a trap. “I am content.”

  “Well then, I am happy for this. But there are others to consider.”

  Sakir said nothing and took another swallow of wine.

  “The people of Emand—your people—have missed you.” Zayad leaned back in his chair. “They are throwing a celebration in honor of your return. You and Rita, of course.”

  “What?” Sakir fairly snapped.

  Zayad nodded. “Tomorrow. Noon. In the marketplace. It is tradition.”

  “I do not think—”

  Zayad did not let him finish. “There would be much disappointment were you and Rita not to attend.”

  Rita watched Sakir—watched his hand curl around his wineglass in a death grip, watched his nostrils flare. “I would not disappoint the people of Emand, as you well know.”

  “I do know.” Zayad lifted his brow. “So you will be there?”

  “We will be there,” Sakir said through gritted teeth.

  Zayad nodded. “Good. I must leave you now. My son is calling from school and I would speak with him.” He bowed to Rita. “It has been a pleasure. Good night.”

  Rita forced a smile. “’Night.”

  Zayad faced Sakir. “Brother.”

  Sakir said nothing, though his gaze never left his brother as the man walked out of the room.

  “Well,” Rita began. “What do we do now?”

  Sakir took a long time in answering. “There is always work to be done.”

  “Yes, there is always work.”

  Rita sighed, feeling a little melancholy—not to mention a little confused about what had happened between her and Sakir in the hall earlier and, just now, between him and his brother. But getting answers out of her “husband” seemed like an impossible task right now.

  “Have you finished your meal?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He nodded, stood. “Good. Because there is something I wish to show you.”

  “Contracts or stats?” she asked with a soft chuckle.

  “Neither.” He offered her his hand. “We have gardens here that are purported to be hypnotic in their fragrance and beauty. I wish to see if this is still so.”