The Sheikh's Untamed Bride

CHAPTER FOUR

SHE WAS SNUGGLED against him, lulled to sleep by the movement of the horse.

The closeness of her disturbed him as much as the realisation that she was nothing like he’d imagined her to be when people had spoken her name. He’d visualised someone pampered and privileged. Someone spoiled and entitled. When he’d first seen her in his tent he’d assumed she was an opportunist, switching sides to protect herself before the inevitable shift in power.

At some point from her arrival in the camp to her falling asleep against him his view on her had become clouded, and now he was forced to admit he didn’t know what he was dealing with.

Dawn rose over the desert, and in the distance he saw the familiar shape of trees and tents clustered around the small, lush oasis that marked one of his favourite places on earth.

His heart clenched as it always did when he arrived here.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought her, but what choice did he have?

Alerted to their presence, people emerged from tents. The rising sun glinted off the dunes and Raz brought his horse to a halt.

‘Princess?’ He spoke the word softly and she stirred against him, her hand locked on the sleeve of his robe.

Raz looked down at that hand. Her fingers were slender and he realised this was the first time he’d seen any part of her other than her face. ‘Layla!’ He used her name for the first time and she came awake with a start, her eyes blurred with sleep as she tried to focus and orientate herself.

‘I fell asleep?’

‘For several hours.’ He held the stallion steady and then dismounted in a smooth movement. ‘Swing your leg over the saddle and I’ll help you down.’

She did it without fuss, but the moment her feet touched the ground she winced and gripped the horse for balance. They’d ridden for hours and she was already aching and bruised from her ride from the Citadel. He knew virtually nothing about her but suspected only dire need would drive her to steady herself against his horse.

The stallion gave a snort of disapproval and threw up its head in disgust.

Raz put his hand on his horse’s neck and spoke calmly. ‘Your muscles will soon become accustomed to riding.’

‘I’m fine, really.’

‘You are hoping never to see another horse in your life,’ he said dryly, ‘but horses are an essential part of my life. I own several stud farms. Two in the US, one in England and one here in Tazkhan.’

‘I know. Your aim is to promote the highest standards in breeding. You specialise in endurance and racing. People send mares from all over the world to be covered by your stallions. You rode in the endurance team on your favourite horse, Raja.’

He hid his surprise. ‘You know a great deal about my horses.’

‘I know nothing about your horses.’ This time she was the one to speak in a dry tone. ‘But I will try very hard to learn.’

‘Is that what you want?’

She hesitated. ‘Of course. Although I can’t promise I’ll show any aptitude. I’m not very coordinated and I’m not sure animals like me much.’ Hesitant, she reached out and patted the stallion’s neck. ‘Is this Raja? I’m incredibly grateful to him for not throwing me off.’

‘I bred him. He was sired by my father’s stallion.’

‘He’s beautiful. But big.’

Presumably her legs had steadied because she stepped back and looked around her for the first time.

‘Where are we? We can stay with these people? In their homes? Will we be welcome?’

There wasn’t a place in the desert where he wasn’t welcome, but he didn’t say that to her.

‘The Bedouin pride themselves on their hospitality. A visitor may stay three days and three nights, after which he is considered sufficiently refreshed to be able to continue his journey.’

‘Is that what we’re going to do?’

Raz didn’t reply. He wasn’t used to sharing his plans with anyone, least of all the daughter of the man who had ripped his life into shreds. ‘The oasis here is famed for its beauty. You can relax here, knowing you are safe.’

‘And my sister?’

‘When I have news from Salem I will tell you. And now I have things I must do.’

She didn’t ask what things. She simply stared at the red-gold of the dunes as they rose against the sunrise as if she were seeing the desert for the first time, while Raz found himself looking at her profile. She had to be exhausted and in pain after the long ride, but she hadn’t once complained.

He wondered what she was thinking.

Was she still relieved not to have married Hassan?

Was she nervous? Regretting her decision to marry a man she didn’t know?

On impulse he reached out to touch her shoulder, and then changed his mind and withdrew his hand. ‘The waters of the oasis are good for muscle ache.’

‘I’ll remember that, thank you.’

A young woman emerged from one of the tents and Raz felt a sudden rush of tension. In an ideal world he would have prepared for this encounter with more care, but the world was rarely ideal.

‘This is Nadia. If there is anything you need she will help you.’

Nadia looked from him to Layla, unable to hide her dismay. ‘So it’s true? You married her?’

Her voice shook and Raz shot her a warning look.

‘Yes. And you will make her welcome.’

For a moment he thought she was going to refuse.

Their eyes met and suddenly he wondered whether her feelings about this development were more complicated than he’d imagined.

Nadia’s breathing was shallow, but she gave a brief nod. ‘Of course. Come this way, Your Highness.’ The correct mode of address was spoken through clenched teeth, but Raz decided to overlook that for now.

His sudden marriage would have come as a massive shock to Nadia. It was fair that she be given time to adjust.

Raz saw Layla glance towards him and wondered if the other girl’s open hostility had upset her.

Or perhaps she was suddenly realising that this marriage was real.

Out of the frying pan into the fire?

‘Bathe, eat, rest,’ he told her quietly, ‘and I will see you later.’

* * *

Bathe, eat, rest.

All of it seemed to be leading to one thing. The night.

I will see you later.

Layla tried not to think about it. It was something to be done, that was all. She would endure it as she had endured the long gallop on the horse and a thousand other discomforts in her life. Really, how bad could it be?

‘His Highness gave instructions that you are to swim. He says it will ease the pain in your muscles.’ Nadia was barely civil as she led her towards the tents, but Layla was starting to get used to that attitude from everyone close to the Sheikh.

She felt as welcome as a scorpion in the heel of someone’s boot.

All the same, she wondered what the other girl’s relationship was with him. She’d seen the look they’d exchanged and it had been obvious to her that they knew each other well.

She wondered if the woman had been his lover, but told herself she had no reason to mind even if she had.

Baking hot under the desert sun, Layla removed her cloak. Nadia turned pale.

‘Where did you get that dress?’

Layla glanced down at herself and noticed that the silk was discoloured by sand and dust from the ride. ‘I was given it. Why?’

‘No reason.’ Nadia’s lips were bloodless. ‘I will leave towels on the rocks, Your Highness, and lay out clean clothes in the tent for you to change into when you have finished.’

‘I can’t swim,’ Layla admitted. ‘Is the oasis deep?’

Nadia led her along a narrow path. ‘Not if you enter the pool by the rocks on the far side.’

The rocks on the far side.

Layla committed that to memory because she didn’t want to get it wrong.

Nothing about her first glimpse of the camp had prepared her for the beauty of the oasis. Shaded by date palms, the still pool of water looked temptingly cool after the long, dusty ride.

This part of the pool was secluded, the view from the other tents obscured by palms and citrus trees. Just one tent stood close by and Nadia gestured with her head. ‘That is His Highness’s tent. I will leave clothes there and put food in the tent. If you need anything, just call, but the pool is safe in the daytime. I’ll go and fetch towels.’

Layla didn’t ask what happened at night. She was too busy wondering who had given up their tent for the Sheikh.

It was obvious it had prime position, set apart from the others and opening onto what effectively became a private pool.

But not that private.

Layla glanced around her, aware that anyone could walk past at any time.

Having only ever undressed behind a locked door, she decided to keep her dress on. It was ruined anyway, so she might as well get one last use out of it.

Removing the belt, she walked to the rocks at the far side of the pool, as Nadia had instructed, and slid into the water.

Stretching out her legs, she felt for the bottom with her feet—but there was no bottom.

Too late, she realised how deep it was and clung tightly to the slippery rock with her fingers, trying to pull herself out again. Just as the thought flashed into her head that Nadia had deliberately sent her to deep water she sank under the surface, dragged down by the weight of the saturated dress.

Trying not to panic, Layla attempted to haul herself up, but her fingers slipped and she sank under the surface, choking.

Water flooded through her mouth and her ears and she kicked hard, but the dress wrapped itself around her ankles, pulling her down.

Just when she’d thought there was no way she was ever going to get out of this alive she felt a disturbance in the water next to her and strong hands hauled her upwards, towards the light. Layla broke the surface of the water, gasping and coughing.

‘Are you trying to drown yourself?’ His black hair plastered to his head, Raz lifted her onto the rocks and then launched himself out of the water next to her, water streaming from the gleaming, pumped muscles of his bare chest. ‘What were you thinking, swimming in a dress?’

Layla couldn’t answer. She was too busy coughing and trying not to be sick.

Cursing softly under his breath, he smoothed her soaked hair away from her face. ‘You are all right now. You are safe. It was lucky I decided to come back and check on you.’

‘I went under—’

‘Because you chose to swim in your dress,’ he breathed, and she shook her head.

‘I never intended to swim. I can’t swim. I was just going to dip myself in the water.’

‘Fully clothed?’

It sounded ridiculous, spelled out like that, and her face turned fiery hot. ‘I thought someone might walk along and see me. The dress was ruined anyway so I thought I’d just keep it on and paddle.’

‘In the deepest end of the pool?’

‘I thought it was the shallow end.’ Layla glanced up at him, puzzled, and saw his eyes darken dangerously.

‘Why would you think that? Who told you it was the shallow end?’

She wasn’t going to tell him that when there was already friction. ‘It was my fault,’ Layla muttered ‘I should have checked for myself.’

Without speaking, he unfastened the back of her dress. ‘Take this off. Go to the other end of the pool where the water is only waist deep. You will be safe and undisturbed, I promise.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘There is a conversation I need to have and it would seem that it can’t wait.’ His voice vibrating with anger, he vaulted to his feet and strode back towards the tent.

Moments later Layla heard his voice and winced, because it was obvious to her that however much Nadia had loathed her before this, she was going to loathe her a thousand times more by the time Raz had finished ripping strips from her in that icy voice of his. She thought she heard muffled sobs and closed her eyes, because the whole situation was turning into a complex mess and without the facts she had no idea how she was supposed to handle it.

Taking refuge in the practical, she peeled off the soaked dress and forced herself back into the water again—more because she didn’t want to let fear beat her than because she wanted to wash. This time she was relieved to feel the bottom under her feet. As he had promised, the water only reached her waist and she washed herself quickly, still shocked by how close she’d come to drowning in this beautiful place.

The sun sent sparkles of light dancing over the still surface of the pool. Somewhere nearby she heard children playing, their laughter cutting through the stillness of the baking hot air, and the sound surprised her because she hadn’t expected to hear children.

She couldn’t think of the time she’d last heard children laugh like that. It reminded her of when Yasmin had been very young and Layla had been constantly putting her hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles in case the sound drew unwanted attention. But here no one was trying to muffle the sound and the children played happily, unrestricted.

Thinking of her sister brought a lump to her throat.

Where was she now?

If only she were at least alive, Layla would never complain about anything ever again.

Listening to the children, she was tempted to go and watch them, but then decided she’d encountered enough hostility for one day. Instead she wrapped herself in the towels that had been left for her and walked the short distance to the tent, hoping that Nadia wouldn’t be there.

Stepping inside, she stopped in surprise.

She’d expected something basic, but this tent was not only fully furnished but luxurious, decorated in rich reds and deep purples. There was a seating area piled with soft cushions and a low bed covered in silk sheets, with a thick cover for cold desert nights.

It was idyllic.

It was—Layla swallowed hard—it was romantic.

Someone had laid food on a low table near to the door, but Layla wasn’t hungry. She couldn’t even think about food after everything that had happened. Did Nadia really hate her so much she would want her dead? And what had Raz said to her that had caused her such distress?

Feeling sick from nerves and oasis water, she pulled on the clothes and sank onto the cushions.

Despite worry about Nadia, and anxiety for her sister, her mind was dominated by thoughts of the night ahead.

She would have spent the day reading, but her books had been left behind at the first camp so she had nothing but her imagination to occupy her time, and by the time Raz finally appeared she was so worked up she jumped out of her skin.

‘You startled me.’

His gaze rested on the untouched food and a faint frown touched his forehead. ‘You haven’t touched the food. Are you unwell after the incident earlier?’

‘No. I just wasn’t hungry.’

‘If you do not eat you will make yourself ill.’

She didn’t tell him that she already felt ill. That nerves had created an uncomfortable lump in her stomach, leaving no room for food. ‘I won’t be ill. I’m very fit.’

‘But you can’t swim?’

‘There is nowhere to swim in the palace so I’ve never had opportunity.’

‘Then that’s something we must fix.’ A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. ‘Swimming in the oasis is one of life’s pleasures.’

Her heart was pumping so fast she worried she was going to pass out, and when he took her hand and drew her towards him she stopped breathing.

‘I am sorry for what happened to you.’

‘Is Nadia—?’

‘I don’t want to talk about Nadia. She has no relevance to what is happening between us and I’ve dealt with her. Now you need to relax.’ His voice soft, he smoothed her hair back from her face. ‘You are very tense and there is no need to be.’

Behind him, through the crack in the tent, she could see the sun turning dark red as it set and it shocked her because she hadn’t realised it was so late.

‘I’m not tense.’

‘Yes, you are, and that is hardly surprising.’ His fingers lingered in her hair. ‘This is not how you dreamed your wedding night would be, I’m sure.’

‘I never dreamed about it. I’m not a dreamy person, Your Highness.’

‘Raz.’ He let a strand of her hair twist itself around his fingers, frowning as she flinched away from him. ‘You don’t have to be afraid of me.’

It wasn’t fear that made her stomach cramp, but she wasn’t sure what it was because it was a feeling she didn’t recognise.

All she knew was that she’d never felt more uncomfortable in her life. He clearly thought she’d spent her formative years dreaming of weddings and happy endings whereas nothing could have been further from the truth.

‘I am not a romantic person,’ she reminded him. ‘I thought I’d made that clear. I hope that won’t be a problem. I assumed you wouldn’t want that.’

What if he did?

Perhaps he was expecting her to fall instantly in love with him and she knew that was never going to happen.

The heat in the tent was stifling and he was standing close to her. So close she could feel the heat and power of him. The breath was locked in her throat and Layla had no idea what she was supposed to do next. Was he expecting her to kiss him? Was he supposed to go first or was she? Both together?

Layla desperately wished she’d had time to study the various options.

She wished she’d read that book long before now, instead of grabbing it as an afterthought on the run from the palace and her old life.

The gaps in her knowledge were glaringly obvious. For a start, she was confused by how long he’d stood there just looking at her. She’d assumed it would all be over quickly. Instead he seemed to be taking his time. His hand had migrated from her hair to her cheek and the slow, exploratory stroke of his fingers unsettled her.

Her tummy tightened into a knot and her pulse leaped and pounded.

She wanted to look away but his gaze drew her to him, holding her eyes with his. And then his eyes flickered to her mouth and that made her feel strange, too. As did his next words.

‘So what did you dream about when you were growing up in the palace?’

How was she supposed to answer that? Every day had been focused on survival. On protecting her sister. ‘I didn’t really dream. I prefer to focus on things that are real. Tangible.’

‘You had no wish for the future?’

‘If I did then it was a hope that the future would be better than the present.’ She saw him frown slightly and felt his thumb slide slowly over the line of her jaw.

‘The present was hard for you?’

What could she say? However hard it had been for her, she knew it must have been so much harder for him. He’d lost his father and the woman he’d loved. ‘I had my sister.’

A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. ‘You’re being evasive, but I’ll overlook it for now because the past has no place in our bedroom.’

Our bedroom.

Her heart was pounding furiously and she found herself trapped by his dark gaze as he slid his hands into her hair and tilted her face to his.

‘If I do anything you don’t like you must tell me,’ he breathed.

She’d just had time to think that was a very strange thing to say, because she had no expectation of liking any of it, when he lowered his head.

Anticipation held her rigid.

That sensuously curved mouth hovered close to hers, prolonging the moment of contact. Just as Layla was beginning to wonder whether there was a reason he was taking so long, whether there was something she was supposed to be doing that she wasn’t, he slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her.

The gentleness threw her. Braced for something quite different, she found the slow, deliberate movement of his lips on hers shocking. Equally unexpected was the sudden tightening of her stomach and the warmth that rushed through her body and into her limbs. The feelings intensified but still his mouth moved over hers while his hands, buried in her hair, held her head trapped.

She felt his tongue trace the seam of her mouth, teasing, coaxing, and she parted her lips, shocked to feel his tongue delve into her mouth.

Something—nerves?—made her shaky? and she closed her hands over his arms to steady herself, her fingers moving over the solid muscle of his biceps. His physical power was undeniable, and she remembered the way he’d controlled the stallion and lifted her out of the pool. But he used that strength lightly now, his hands gentle as he smoothed her hair away from her face and kissed her mouth, all the time watching her through slumbrous dark eyes that made her aware of every part of herself.

Layla had never felt anything like this before, and she felt a flash of panic because she was a person who liked to understand things and rationalise them. But there was no understanding the searing heat that shot through her body and pooled low in her belly.

Releasing her head, he curved one arm around her back, slid the other around her waist and pulled her into him. She felt the strength and power of his thighs and the hardness of him. Pressed against the evidence of his masculinity, she discovered that the works of Michaelangelo didn’t tell the whole story.

Layla was confused by the torrent of sensation that flooded her skin and seeped into her nerve-endings.

‘Kiss me back.’

His husky command was spoken against her lips and she stared up at him, unable to see him properly in the darkness but knowing her mouth was just a shadow away from the dangerous curve of his.

Kiss me back.

Wishing she had more knowledge of technique, Layla tentatively touched her lips to his. She wanted to ask, Is this right? But then she felt his arm tighten around her waist, drawing her closer. Pressed this close to him, she felt hot and unbalanced in every way. She knew her cheeks were flushed, knew he could taste her confusion on her lips, but still he kissed her and the slowness of it, together with the long drawn-out ache of anticipation and something else she couldn’t name, was agonising.

He kissed her until their surroundings faded and the only thing in her vision was him, and then he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. The practical side of her prompted her to tell him she was capable of walking, but she thought it might be a lie so she kept silent and wondered how nerves could weaken limbs.

The light in the tent was dim, but not so dim she couldn’t see his face, and she remembered Yasmin dreamily telling her how handsome he was—how he was ‘hot’. At the time Layla hadn’t understood how a word used to describe temperature could be used as a positive indicator of visual appeal, but now she realised that looking at him made her feel hot. Burning hot. Her skin, her lips and other more sensitive parts of her that she rarely had reason to think about. And while he was kissing her he extracted her from her clothing. The ease with which he accomplished that feat was almost as embarrassing as being naked in front of him.

Grateful for the semi-darkness, she somehow resisted the desperate urge to cover herself. Never in her life had she felt so out of her depth and inadequate, and she lay there, her breathing shallow, staring up at him as he wrenched off his shirt, all the time watching her with eyes almost black in the candlelight.

Layla held her breath because even she, with her limited experience and previously limited interest in the masculine form, could see that his was perfectly proportioned.

Unable to help herself, she let her gaze slide over bronzed, muscular shoulders, down over his chest with its haze of dark hair, and lower still to his board-flat abdomen. She didn’t look lower and he slid his fingers under her chin and lifted her face, forcing her to look at him.

‘You’re scared.’

‘No.’ Her voice was a whisper. ‘But I wish I’d read more.’

‘Not all the answers can be found in books.’ His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth and his fingers slid into her hair, cupping the back of her head. ‘Perhaps you know more than you think you do. Follow your instincts.’