Carrying the Sheikh's Baby Page 9

  And whatever the outcome of that situation, he would always be her first. She’d made the decision to give him her virginity, without telling him, so she had no right to expect him to simply dismiss that as if it were of no consequence. He didn’t believe it was of no consequence to her and it certainly wasn’t to him.

  She hadn’t fastened the veil sewn into the robe’s headdress over her face yet, giving him a clear view of the light flush on her cheeks.

  ‘I’m not sure calling you Zane is appropriate,’ she said. ‘Won’t it seem a bit disrespectful in public?’

  ‘I decide what’s disrespectful and what’s not,’ he said, letting his frustration show. ‘I’ve felt your body clench around me while you climax,’ he added, under his breath so only she could hear him. ‘I think we can safely say that calling me Zane is not going to be more inappropriate than that.’

  She blinked and the blush fired over her face, illuminating that tempting trail of freckles across her nose. ‘Yes—yes, of course,’ she said, frustrating him even more, because now he felt like a bully.

  ‘You said there’s been a mistake? What mistake?’ he asked, trying to moderate his tone. What was wrong with him? Goading her wasn’t going to make this situation any easier to bear, or any less volatile. Quite the contrary.

  ‘The horse,’ she said and pointed towards the Arabian mare that he had arranged for her to ride after a lengthy discussion that morning with his stable manager, Omar.

  ‘What’s the problem with the horse? Zakar is small, I know, but she is one of our finest mares, very docile and amenable.’ He’d had it on good authority from Omar—after quizzing the man for twenty minutes. It was only a four-hour ride to the oasis, but he wanted to ensure Catherine would be safe and not overtaxed. He had already informed his men they would be taking a more circuitous route to avoid any terrain that might be too challenging for their guest.

  ‘It’s not the horse, exactly. She’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘It’s just...’ She hesitated and chewed her bottom lip. The urge to touch his tongue to the reddened skin and soothe the place where her teeth sank into it had his frustration levels increasing.

  ‘It’s just what?’ he snapped. And she stopped biting her lip. Thank God.

  ‘It’s just that I don’t know how to ride her,’ she said, the blush flaring again.

  ‘You don’t ride?’ he said, his frustration dissolving at the look of embarrassment on her face.

  She shook her head.

  ‘But you sat on the horse very well when we rode back together from the marketplace.’ Her body had moulded to his as they’d galloped back to the palace. Far too well in fact, because having her in his arms, moving in unison with him, feeling her muscles tense and release, her breasts plump against his forearm, had been one of the most arousing experiences he’d ever had—until he’d got her naked in his bed.

  ‘You’re kidding,’ she said. ‘I was sure I must have felt to you like having to ride a horse while holding onto a sack of potatoes.’

  Despite his frustration, and the vision now clouding his brain of her body cradled against his, he had the strangest urge to laugh at the look of total astonishment on her face.

  ‘I assure you,’ he said, his voice a barely audible rasp, ‘nothing could have felt less like a sack of potatoes.’ He cleared his throat, the urge to laugh comprehensively destroyed by the renewed urge to take her in his arms again and ride her, instead of letting her ride Zakar.

  ‘Are you telling me you’ve never ridden a horse before that? Ever?’ he asked, struggling to quell the desire threatening to run riot again.

  ‘No, never.’ She looked concerned, her teeth tugging on her lip again.

  He groaned inwardly. The spike of heat to his groin was not welcome.

  ‘Could I drive to the location instead?’ she asked.

  ‘The Kholadi live in the desert. It is not possible to drive all the way to the oasis.’

  Her face fell. ‘I suppose I can’t go, then,’ she said.

  He clicked his fingers and one of the young stable lads rushed forward to serve him. ‘Fit Pegasus with the larger saddle,’ he said in Narabi to the boy. ‘And tell Ravi to arrange for a car to transport Dr Smith to Allani.’

  He turned back to Catherine. ‘I have arranged for an SUV to take you from here to the end of the desert road in Allani. We will rendezvous there and then you will have to ride with me the rest of the way to the oasis.’

  Her eyes popped open, wary and concerned, the flush of awareness riding high on her cheeks. ‘Won’t that be too much for the horse?’ she said.

  ‘Pegasus is a big horse.’ He let his gaze glide down her frame. ‘You are a small woman. And we will only be sharing the mount for an hour. The stallion will be fine,’ he said, although he wasn’t sure why he was so determined not to leave her behind.

  He decided not to examine the decision too closely.

  Three hours later though, as the lush curves of her breasts settled against his forearm, her bottom tensed between his thighs and her agonising scent filled his nostrils, it occurred to him he might have made another serious error in judgement—as all the blood in his brain surged south.

  * * *

  The shimmer of impossibly blue water in the valley below, shaded by a grove of palm trees and edged by an encampment of at least a hundred tents, looked like an optical illusion to Cat as Pegasus trotted over the crest of the dunes. Or something created by a particularly cruel CGI artist. She sucked in a breath, the cloying cloth of her veil sticking to her dry lips. Zane’s arms tightened under her breasts, as he shouted something in Narabi to his men.

  The order was followed by a series of whooping shouts and suddenly she was forced back into Zane’s embrace as he spurred Pegasus into a full gallop down the side of the dunes. The horses’ hooves made dull thuds in the solid sand, and her body jumped and jiggled, the soreness in her thighs and bottom nothing compared to the riot of sensation that had been driving her wild for what felt like days now.

  The ride had been arduous. Within ten seconds of mounting the stallion in front of Zane, his big body surrounding her, Catherine had questioned the wisdom of agreeing to ride with him.

  She should have made her excuses. And stayed at the palace.

  This promised to be a fascinating trip—she’d been able to find out next to nothing on the Kholadi and their chief, other than that Kasim was the youngest chief the Kholadi had ever had, and he’d spent his early years living at the palace. Interviewing him would add considerable weight to her study of Narabian society. But she was so tired and sore now, and overstimulated, she had lost the ability to care about anything but getting off the horse.

  Far more arduous than the ride had been the enforced proximity to Zane. And she was certain he’d found it just as arduous. Because she’d felt him tense whenever her bottom had shifted in the saddle or his forearm had tightened around her midriff.

  And even worse than the physical proximity had been the thoughts and feelings that had spun through her tired mind without warning, as the stark beauty of the desert landscape had brought her emotions far too close to the surface.

  She should have spent the journey thinking of her research protocol, what she wanted to learn from this visit. Instead of which she’d been fixated on every minute movement of his body behind hers, and the devastating erotic memories of what they’d shared and would never share again.

  As the oasis spread out before them, the inviting water the same translucent blue as Zane’s eyes, a group of heavily armed Kholadi tribesmen appeared from the main tent in the enclosure to greet them. One man stood out, a head taller than the other tribesmen—at least as tall as Zane. Cat guessed he must be the chief from the sabres he wore and the gold braiding on his dark robes, which glittered in the sunlight.

  Shots were fired into the air by the other tribesmen—the deafening pops of gunfire combin
ed with the deep guttural whoops of Zane’s men.

  Cat clung to the saddle as Zane dismounted. Unlike the rest of Narabia’s citizens, the Kholadi tribesmen showed none of the same deference to Zane, several of them patting him on the back. Zane made his way towards the man she assumed must be Kasim. They clasped hands and then drew together in a hug. The chief clapped Zane’s shoulder and said something in a dialect Cat didn’t understand.

  As the bodyguards led the other horses away, she was left sitting on Pegasus, not sure whether to attempt to dismount on her own, as Zane and the Kholadi chief appeared to be deep in conversation. When suddenly all eyes, including Zane’s and the chief’s, were directed her way.

  Hot and sweaty and sore under the cloying fabric of the riding robe, she had never felt more self-conscious in her life. Then the chief said something in the same incomprehensible Kholadi dialect and a round of loud laughs and guffaws ensued.

  Zane stiffened and she could see his displeasure at the comment as he strode towards her. ‘Come, I will introduce you to Kasim.’

  ‘What did he say?’ she asked.

  She stifled the blush that wanted to heat her skin. If she got any hotter she’d pass out. And fainting would only make her humiliation and misery complete.

  ‘Nothing important,’ Zane said, but she could hear the snap of irritation in his tone as he gripped her waist. Grasping his shoulders, she let him lift her off Pegasus’s back. But as her feet touched the sand, her knees buckled.

  Zane banded an arm around her waist, keeping her upright. ‘Are you okay?’ he demanded, his voice thick with concern. ‘Do you need me to carry you?’

  ‘No, no, please. I’m fine, I’m just a bit stiff.’ She’d die of embarrassment if he carried her.

  ‘I should never have expected you to ride so long without a break,’ Zane said, the concern in his voice making the sensation in her stomach dip.

  Don’t read anything into it.

  She forced herself to walk, stifling the groan of pain as her thigh muscles protested.

  As they approached the chief together, the young man smiled, startling her a little. He had the same striking bone structure as Zane, even though his skin was several shades darker and his eyes so brown they were almost black.

  ‘Kasim, this is Dr Catherine Smith. She is a Middle Eastern scholar from the UK. And she is going to write a book about our country,’ Zane introduced her, placing a possessive hand on her back. ‘Treat her with the proper respect.’

  The Kholadi chief laughed, his eyes twinkling with mischief. A silent communication passed between him and Zane—which made Zane tense and Kasim’s grin widen. Whatever Kasim had said about her a moment ago, she would hazard a guess it had nothing to do with her academic qualifications. She should have been insulted, but she was charmed instead when Kasim gathered her fingers and made an extravagant production of kissing her knuckles.

  ‘The Kholadi are honoured to have His Divine Majesty’s woman in our humble camp,’ he said.

  His woman? Is it that obvious?

  ‘Oh, I’m not... I’m just an academic,’ she sputtered, struggling to come up with a convincing denial while her exhausted body replayed the wonder of being Zane’s woman for one night.

  ‘There is no just, when a woman is as beautiful as you,’ the Kholadi chief declared.

  Don’t blush. Please don’t blush.

  Heat exploded in her cheeks, and Kasim’s lips quirked with a wealth of knowledge.

  Oh, for goodness’ sake, why don’t you just wear a sign saying Zane’s Woman Here?

  ‘Behave yourself, Kasim,’ Zane said—the warning tone as tense as she now felt. ‘Dr Smith needs to freshen up and then she would like to talk to you about her research. Do you have a tent she can use?’

  ‘Of course, brother,’ Kasim said, but the mocking light turning his eyes a rich chocolate brown suggested he wasn’t chastened in the least.

  The two men exchanged a few more words in the Kholadi dialect before Kasim ordered a young woman to escort them both to a large tent situated on a small hill at the top of the encampment. Cat had no idea what the men had said to each other, but as Zane cupped her elbow and directed her through the camp she could tell his temper was being held at bay with an effort.

  ‘Kasim seems like a nice man,’ she said in a desperate attempt to break the tension.

  ‘The one thing Kasim is not is nice,’ he snapped, the temper now vibrating through his voice. ‘Don’t be fooled by that thin veneer of charm. The man is a goddamn...’ He stopped talking, and Cat glanced at him, disturbed by the stormy expression.

  ‘The man is a what?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said as he lifted the tent flap and held it open for her to walk inside. Whatever he had been going to say, he’d obviously thought better of it.

  But still Cat wondered. Was there bad blood between Zane and the Kholadi chieftain? Kasim had seemed relaxed and friendly, but Zane looked murderous.

  ‘Why did he call you brother?’ she asked, intrigued by the casual form of address.

  Everyone else treated Zane with such deference, but Kasim treated him very much like an equal.

  Zane scowled down at her. But didn’t reply.

  Then two women appeared, bareheaded and with a number of piercings in their brows and noses, their flowing robes made of fine silks. They fell to their knees in front of Zane. He spoke to them in rapid Kholadi. And then directed Cat into the main area of the tent.

  Cat gasped. It was like walking into a cave of wonders, the bold colours and luxurious furnishings in stark contrast to the austere outer appearance of the dwelling.

  A carved wooden bed on a platform stood in one corner covered in richly embroidered pillows. Thick, elaborately embroidered rugs covered the floor and velvet curtains had been drawn back to reveal a gleaming copper tub in the opposite corner surrounded by low tables piled high with linen clothes and an assortment of small glass bottles. The scent of perfumes and incense filled the surprisingly cool and refreshing air inside the tent.

  Zane led her to a large divan draped in luxurious silk and directed her to sit down. Cat winced as her abused buttocks made contact with the pillows.

  ‘How bad is it?’ Zane asked.

  ‘Not too bad,’ she lied as she tried to shift into a more comfortable position. If only she could stand up but she wasn’t convinced her legs would hold her upright, because the walk across camp had turned them to putty again.

  Leaning down, Zane touched his finger to her nose and smiled, the crinkle of his lips both strained and yet sympathetic.

  ‘These two will look after you. I’ve told them to feed you and then give you a long hot bath. After that they’ll give you a massage. It will be sore as hell at first, but the oils and ointments they use will make it feel much better once they’re done.’ His voice seemed to sink several octaves as he described the massage—putting her overstimulated nerve endings even more on edge. He straightened. ‘I’ll come back to get you, once you’ve had a chance to rest. We’ve been invited to join Kasim for supper. He will answer any questions you have about the Kholadis’ way of life.’

  He turned to leave so abruptly she shifted to grab his sleeve. And hissed as the pain shot up her thigh. ‘Wait, Zane.’

  He stopped, but the way his gaze tracked to where her fingers touched his forearm had her releasing his sleeve immediately.

  ‘What is it, Catherine?’ he said, the patience gone again. He was angry about something, but she had no idea what.

  ‘Won’t it be dark by then?’

  ‘I expect so. What’s your point?’ he replied.

  ‘Is it safe to make the return journey at night?’

  As much as she didn’t want to have to get back on the horse, she really didn’t think she could get back on it in the dark. And not just because of her abused butt muscles. But because she didn’t think
she could spend another hour cocooned in Zane’s arms while the darkness increased the intimacy... Or she was liable to lose what little was left of her sanity.

  Zane’s gaze remained steady on hers for two pregnant beats. ‘You’re in no condition to ride again tonight,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to stay here overnight. And return to the palace tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Oh...’ she said, both relieved and yet somehow more wary. Was this why he was so annoyed? Because she’d turned out to be so feeble? And why was his grudging concern making her stomach muscles melt?

  ‘Don’t freak out, Catherine. We won’t be sharing the same tent,’ he said, the tension snapping in his voice again.

  But I wasn’t worried about that.

  ‘I’ll be back to get you in a couple of hours,’ he continued. ‘Get as much rest as you can.’

  She nodded, then flopped back on the divan as his heavy footfalls left the tent. Now more confused and wary than ever.

  Because the thought of sharing a tent with him had not bothered her at all. And it really should have. Especially as the last thing she needed right now was to ride anything else.

  * * *

  ‘I discovered from my research that you spent your early years at the Sheikh’s palace. Why was that? And why did you leave?’ Cat asked, her curiosity about Kasim’s past getting the better of her as his servants removed the empty dishes they had been feasting on for the past two hours.

  The Kholadi chief had been vocal and engaging throughout the lavish meal. She’d feared he might be as evasive as Zane, but he’d been the opposite, regaling Cat with stories of how he had come to assume the chiefdom—a series of trials by combat against the other young men in the camp after the previous chief had died without a son. She’d quizzed him about the Kholadis’ customs and culture and he’d answered every inquiry, even offering to translate any conversations she might want to have with his tribespeople.

  The food had been delicious. They’d eaten with their fingers, a lavish banquet spread out on the low tables. After the soothing bath and massage, the aches and pains of the ride had been forgotten while she lounged on the bed of cushions, chatting with the Kholadi chief and devouring exquisite dishes heavily spiced with Middle Eastern flavours. The low lighting had added a spellbinding intimacy to the proceedings.