The Sultan's Bed Page 9

  He ripped his keys from the ignition and got out of the car, walked across the lawn to Tara’s bungalow door. He would have to fight his desire for Mariah Kennedy. He could not allow this kind of pull, this kind of distraction, when he had work to do here.

  After two decisive raps on the door, it opened and the lovely older woman who had so captivated his late father stood before him.

  “Good afternoon, Zayad.”

  “Ms. Hefner.”

  “Tara, please.” She smiled, stepped aside so he could enter.

  “Thank you for letting me come, Tara. I know you did not have to.”

  “I’ll admit I’m just as curious as you are.” She showed him into the same living area where they had begun their last visit. She had some lemonade and cookies set out on the coffee table. She took a glass and started for the pitcher of lemonade.

  “Allow me,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  He poured her a glass, then eased it into her hand. He also took a cookie and placed it on a napkin in front of her on the table.

  “Thank you,” she said with a grin.

  Her ability to sense or hear the smallest of movements amazed him. “If I may ask, how did you lose your eyesight?”

  “I have macular degeneration.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, that’s not entirely true. I would love to see my work, my child’s face, Mariah in the courtroom and your wicked grin—the same as your father’s, I’ll bet. But I can’t have those things. I see in a different way and I came to realize that sometimes that is a good thing. I believe now that it was a precious gift to have my sight taken from me.” She paused, smiled. “You’re shocked by that, right?”

  He took a cookie. “I am intrigued.”

  “Good answer.” She also reached for her cookie. “When I lost my sight, it was slow. Darkness took over the light little by little. Before, I had lived a life of judgments, as I think we all do. What we see on the outside is, of course, what is on the inside. We hardly question this. But when you start losing the ability to see the outside of anything, you’re forced to deal only with the heart, with the deeds, with the real stuff.”

  She took a breath, then smiled. “All judgments left me, and instead I had questions. No more anger or cynicism or ‘why mes,’ only curiosity and compassion.” She looked at him, her eyes so blue, so kind, yet there was a little sadness there. “I say no regrets, true. But I’ll admit I’ve always had a hole in my heart for a time that ended too shortly.”

  The cookie felt dry in his mouth. “The three days with my father?”

  “Yes.” She leaned back in her chair. “He was an amazing man. Our time together was magical. Morally right or wrong, it was the best three days of my life—except for Jane’s arrival.”

  “You loved him?”

  “Very much.”

  Zayad’s chest tightened. Why had he asked that? He did not care for love. This was about Jane and her future. This was about wanting to know why his father had given so much of himself to this woman. Who she was. Perhaps it was also about knowing his father better.

  She nibbled on the cookie and tucked her feet up under her. “I know this is probably the last thing you want to hear, but it’s part of the story. I thought your father cared for me a great deal. When he left, he told me he loved me. But we both understood that we belonged to different worlds. And of course, he had a family.”

  “Yes,” said Zayad with mild tension.

  “And I would never have messed with that. But I just couldn’t believe that what we shared was all a lie. That he didn’t care for me at all. And it kills me to know that he didn’t even care for the life growing inside of me.”

  Though Zayad hadn’t come to ease the pain of his father’s mistress, he knew he must say something. “I am certain he would have cared for Jane if he had known.”

  “Known?” For the first time since he had met Tara, she looked completely unsettled. “Of course he’d known, he just didn’t—”

  “My father did not know of your pregnancy, Tara.”

  Her brows knit together. “What?”

  “He knew nothing.”

  “No, that’s not possible.” She shook her head. “His aide said—”

  “The man did not inform my father of your calls or of Jane’s existence. He felt he was protecting my father and the royal family from—”

  “Don’t say it.” She put her hand in the air as though to block all negativity from reaching her. Then she let it fall, and her face fell along with it. “Are you really telling me the truth? He never knew he had a daughter?”

  “He did not.”

  “So, he didn’t lie to me.” It wasn’t a question. A look of hope crossed her features, and she took a moment to just breathe. Then suddenly she looked pensive again. “Why have you come to America, Zayad? Why have you sought out Jane? To tell her about her heritage or to see if she’s worthy enough to accept it?”

  “Both.”

  She nodded, her lips thin. “You will not hurt my child.”

  “I have no intention of hurting her.”

  “She’s innocent. I never wanted to burden her with stories of her father. She knows nothing of this.”

  “She must.”

  Tara paused, bit her lip, shook her head. “Yes. I suppose so.”

  “I want to talk with her when she returns from Los Angeles.”

  “No, I will tell her when she comes to me next week.” She nibbled more on her cookie. “As much as it pains me, we all have to know our truths.”

  Zayad nodded, agreeing fully. Truth could be a bitter pill to swallow, but there was no way to escape it.

  “And what of my other child?” Tara said.

  Zayad’s brows drew together. “Mariah?”

  An almost sad smile hovered about her lips. “She’s growing fond of you. She hasn’t looked twice at a man in ages. To be honest, it scares me to death.”

  “She has nothing to fear from me.”

  “You’re going back to Emand, right? To your work and your life.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re going to leave her here broken-hearted. I’ve been there, Zayad. In love and alone. It’s not something I wish for Mariah.”

  “Mariah does not have such feeling for me.”

  “Maybe not right now but soon. I see it in her.”

  “You see—”

  She smiled. “I sense it. Please be careful. With both of my girls, okay?”

  “I will.”

  When Zayad pulled away from the center, he felt as confused as ever. He had wanted to hate this woman, to tell her that his father could not possibly have loved her, to laugh at her story and admissions of care for the sultan. But he could not and did not, as those were the reactions of an affronted child.

  He took each curve of hill a little too dangerously. He was beginning to feel something new—an out-of-control feeling that worried him. He wished he could speak of his fears with Mariah. He did not know why, but he felt close to her, a friendship as well as desire. But it was unwise to engage her in emotion. If what Tara had said was true, he could only allow himself the closeness of skin and sweat and desire.

  A shot of disappointment went through him, and he despised himself for feeling so. When had this soft side where women were concerned overtaken him?

  The ocean came into view.

  He knew exactly when. It had been early evening several days ago, and a frustrated but heavenly lawyer had run headfirst into his chest.

  He had surprised her.

  Mariah had been under the impression that after several awesome spa treatments they’d be heading back home. But no. After her last treatment, a wonderful woman had come for her, led her out of the spa building and into the hotel portion of the inn. With just a sentence or two of explanation she’d left Mariah in the most gorgeous of suites overlooking a small lake littered with ducks.

  Zayad h
ad arranged this, the woman had told her. He wished for Mariah to relax and he would be here in an hour for dinner.

  Mariah wanted to feel shocked by his boldness and maybe muster up some pangs of anxiety about the whole thing, but she couldn’t get herself to feel anything except excitement.

  Well, that and a little frustration that she hadn’t brought anything but the casual clothes she was wearing. She was going to have dinner in this magnificent suite overlooking a lovely lake during sunset and she had no fabulous outfit.

  Of course, she didn’t own all that many fabulous outfits to choose from. And what really went with a brown ankle boot?

  But when she walked into the white bathroom, she saw that Zayad had further surprises in store. Her toiletries were set up on the counter, and the two prettiest dresses she owned hung on the shower rod, along with one she didn’t recognize. It was a pale yellow silk slip dress, very beautiful and very expensive looking.

  Without a thought she knew Zayad had bought it for her and she also knew she was going to wear it tonight.

  After a quick shower, a long blow-dry and some light makeup application, she let the chef in, then reclined on the couch and waited for her date to arrive. As she sat there, her senses being pummeled by the scents of roasted lamb and fresh rosemary bread, she thought about the afternoon and specifically about the massage table. Shivers of desire rippled through her, but there were far more nerve-racking sensations to contend with. For the first time in years she’d allowed a man to touch her both emotionally and physically.

  She was opening herself to getting hurt again.

  Maybe if she didn’t view this affair as she had her marriage, she could cast aside her fears about getting hurt. There is no commitment here, no words of love spoken, no promises made. She didn’t have to have expectations of him, only pleasure for however long it lasted.

  As the door opened and Zayad walked in, she wondered if that were possible.

  Looking unbelievably handsome in a black suit and a crisp white shirt open at the collar, Zayad stopped in front of her. “You look beautiful, Mariah. The color of the sun is magnificent on you.”

  “Thank you, and thanks for the dress.”

  “It is nothing.”

  It was more than he could ever know. No man had ever bought her anything so personal.

  “How was the rest of your day?” he asked.

  “Wonderful.”

  “And your ankle?”

  She lifted her booted foot so he could see. “Much better.”

  His gaze moved over her bare skin, from toes to midthigh. “Are you hungry?”

  You have no idea. “I could eat.”

  “Our chef comes highly recommended.” He helped her to her feet and led her over to the preset table in front of the French doors. “Can I pour you some wine?”

  “That would be great, thanks.”

  The chef came out and placed the chicken, bread and salad between the white candles and red roses, then nodded at Zayad and left the suite.

  When a curious Mariah turned to Zayad, he smiled. “I thought it best if we could dine alone. Is this all right?”

  Alone with Zayad…

  She smiled as much to herself as to him. “Of course.” She took a sip of the white wine, then asked, “So, what did you do today while I was getting pampered?”

  He offered her some bread. “I had some business to attend to. One of which was planning our dinner.”

  “Well, you did a great job. It’s beautiful.” And you’re beautiful. She looked up at him. And I don’t know if I can pretend this means nothing more to me than sex. “Everything’s perfect.”

  Wineglass to his lips, he studied her. “Something is wrong.”

  “No.”

  His gaze bored into her. “Are you having regrets?”

  “About what?” As if she didn’t know.

  “Allowing me to be your masseur instead of the Swede?” He reached across the table and took her hand. “For, you understand, I could not abide him touching you.”

  Delicious shivers crawled up her spine. “Why?”

  “I would not like it.”

  She forced herself not to ask why again. “I don’t think I would’ve liked it much, either.”

  “Then I was wrong? You have no regrets?”

  She shook her head.

  He played with her fingers. “There is something I must tell you, Mariah.”

  Oh, God, what? You’re a woman? You have a woman? You want to bring a woman into our bed tonight?

  She was going completely nuts.

  He released a weighty breath. “I am only in California for a short time.”

  Not icky, not perverted, but definitely not good. “Okay.”

  “I want to be…as honest as I can with you.”

  “I appreciate that.” Sort of.

  “You see, my life is in Emand, my work, my son and—”

  “Zayad, I understand. Really.” She didn’t want to hear any more. She knew now that this affair would end. Heart strings really wouldn’t be attached. Knowing that, she simply could enjoy herself with no worries about the future. His honesty, though heartbreakingly disappointing, was refreshing. For once a man wasn’t lying to her. She gave him a soft smile. “Let’s talk about something else, okay?”

  He took her hand and kissed it, then released her and reached for his wine. “What other treatments did you have, and were they as good as your massage?”

  Flirting. Yes, this she could do, this she wanted. “The body exfoliation was pretty good.”

  “This is the one with sugar, yes?”

  “Yep.”

  “To make the skin softer?”

  Mariah laughed. “I hope so.”

  “I would be willing to judge this, if you would like.”

  “You’d be willing, huh?”

  He flashed her a devilish grin, stood up and walked around behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders, let his palms rake down her arms. “Yes. Very soft.”

  She sighed, closed her eyes.

  “But I feel I must explore further to make certain.”

  His hand slipped inside her dress. Her breath hitched as he palmed her bare breast, as he let his thumb move back and forth over her swollen nipple.

  She released a moan. Forget food, forget talking and flirting and getting to know each other more. They had waited long enough, hadn’t they? She needed this. Her body needed this. Clearly he did, too.

  She stood, turned and faced him. “Take me to bed.”

  She waited for him to say no, not yet, after dinner. But he didn’t. His eyes were black as ink and hot as hell as he nodded and said, “Yes?”

  “Yes.” She smiled, knew she looked desperate, on fire, totally ready and willing.

  Zayad lifted her up, and she buried her head in his neck.

  Ten

  Mariah closed her eyes as Zayad laid her gently on the bed. She’d wanted this moment to happen, fantasized about it day and night, hoped against hope that Zayad was as into her as she was into him. But now that it was happening, she couldn’t help but feel a bit self-conscious. After all, her last relationship had ended over sex. True, it had been her husband and another woman who had actually had the sex, but she’d always wondered if she’d driven him into that woman’s arms—if she was a horrible lover.

  But all thought died as Zayad lowered himself on top of her and claimed her mouth. The weight of him made her high, his chest smashed against her breasts, his erection pressed gloriously against her belly, the way he rubbed his lips back and forth over hers, swiped her upper lip with his tongue.

  Mariah groaned with approval and arched her hips to meet him, her underwear feeling wet and confining. Her hands went around his neck, plunged into his hair.

  “You want this, yes?” he uttered, tense.

  “I want you,” she answered breathlessly.

  Zayad tugged at the thin straps at her shoulders, then pulled her dress down. She wore no bra, and he looked ready to feast. With o
ne hand he explored the fullness of her breast, his thumb and forefinger torturing her stiff nipple. With the other he snuck under her dress, over her panties, and palmed the swollen V between her thighs.

  “You feel too good, Mariah.” He stroked her, quickly and lightly, then eased two fingers inside of her.

  Her breath caught in her throat and her body quivered with the need to release. But she held on. She wanted to have him inside of her as she climaxed this time.

  Zayad must have sensed her urgency or he simply couldn’t wait. In seconds he had her dress off and his own clothing removed. And in mere moments his hands returned to her hot skin and his mouth found her nipple.

  Heat pooled in her belly, and her hands raked down his broad back, down to his buttocks. She dug her fingers into his taut flesh, pressed him hard and rough against her. Desperation filled her. “Please, Zayad. I can’t wait. I don’t want to wait.”

  He lifted off her, reached over to the side table. With deft fingers he quickly protected her. “I am without control tonight. Forgive me.”

  She didn’t understand him but didn’t have time to ask as he rose up and positioned himself over her.

  Her breath coming in gasps, Mariah spread her legs wide. She was tight and he was large, but as he inched his way to paradise, she felt an all-consuming pleasure.

  And then he was through and deep, and her breath caught in her throat.

  He fit her perfectly.

  Maybe this was different. Maybe this was the something real she’d never thought existed.

  His eyes probed her soul as he dipped his head and kissed her hungrily. When he eased back from her mouth, he remained deep inside her, but his hand disappeared behind her head. He brought back a pillow, then easily slipped it under her hips without breaking their connection.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “It will make your experience more fulfilling.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  His smile was soft, but his eyes were filled with intensity and heat. A heat she understood, and wanted to express. She squirmed beneath him. He grinned, this time with wicked intent, and he rose out of her, then pushed back in. His strokes were long and liquid as his pulse jumped in his temple.