How to Seduce a Sheikh (6 page)

He stroked her nipples with his thumbs, back and forward, back and forward, through the silk of her tunic. Beneath the filmy fabric she could see them puckering in the mirror, saw too the flush of her arousal on her cheeks, the way her eyes darkened, just as he said.

‘Now, I see a woman who is ready to be pleasured,’ Zafar said, pushing her hair back to nibble on the lobe of her ear, pressing tiny kisses onto the tender skin at her nape, returning his attention to the front of her tunic, slowly undoing the row of tiny buttons that fastened it. The tunic parted, and Colette gasped, closing her eyes on her nakedness.

‘Look,
ma
chère
, do not hide from your beauty,’ Zafar urged. ‘See how lovely is this curve.’ He ran his hand from her cheek down her neck across to her shoulder. ‘And this one.’ His palms flattened on each of her sides down to the indentation of her waist. ‘And this one.’ Spread out over the curve of her hips. ‘There is nothing more beautiful than curves. Your slenderness makes them all the more alluring. Do you see?’

She was beginning to. The creature in the mirror didn’t look a bit like her, but then, Colette could not remember ever examining herself naked in such a way. Zafar was untying the sash that held her pleated pantaloons together. She wore nothing under them. Even now, she could see the outline of her legs, the shadow of her sex, beneath the chiffon. The pantaloons slid to the floor, leaving her naked, and this time she did not close her eyes. Behind her, Zafar was staring at her reflection as if mesmerised. His eyes too had darkened, his cheeks too were flushed with desire. She could feel the length of his arousal pressing into her back.

He spread his hands over her thighs and pulled her back against him in a rocking movement. ‘I dream of you wrapped around me. When I see you like this, your skin so pale against my own, your shape so soft and pliant against mine, I can think only of what it would be like to be inside you, my hardness melded, enfolded by your softness. I think of your flesh, so cool yet capable of heating mine to boiling. I look at you and I see fire and ice, hidden pleasures waiting to be explored. Do you see it, Colette? Do you see yourself as I do?’

Holding her firmly against him, his shaft a solid weight in her back, Zafar covered her sex with his palm, sliding one finger inside her. She moaned, saw her refection moaning and moaned again.

He withdrew his finger and put it in his mouth. ‘You taste as delightful as you look.’ He cupped her sex again, sliding his finger inside her, over the heat of her, slowly circling, then took her hand and placed it under his. ‘My pleasure is your pleasure,’ he said.

She was shocked. He made no move to force her, merely covering her hand. ‘It is your body,
chérie
. You should learn to love it. Explore it.’

Tentatively, she touched herself, doing as he had done, sliding in, over, circling. She was so wet. Again, she touched herself. Zafar’s breathing quickened as she did so. Their reflection showed his eyes fixed on her hand, his face dark with desire, his hands gripping her hips, rocking her back against him. She touched herself more boldly, roused by her own touch, by his watching her, by her watching him.

‘My pleasure is your pleasure.’ His words in her voice, husky and sensual, made her smile, and her smile too was sensual. Who would have thought? Confident now, and too taut, too close to the edge to stop, she slid her fingers deeper inside herself and began to stroke harder, feeling her muscles tighten. Zafar’s grip on her tightened, the gentle rocking of their bodies echoing each stroke, until she was so tense she could hold on no longer and came, crying out, panting, held firmly against him, as the waves of her climax shook her to her core.

When it had passed, she was astounded to find herself still upright, still gazing in the mirror, the woman reflected there wild-eyed and sated, the man behind her...

Definitely not sated, judging from the hardness she could still feel jutting against her back. ‘Did I do something wrong?’

Zafar shook his head. ‘You have done everything perfectly.’

‘But you...’

‘We are not finished yet. The second lesson in the art of love,
ma
petite
. Our mutual pleasure.’ Leading her gently over to the divan, he divested himself of his robe, lay down on the bed and pulled her on top of him.

Chapter Six

‘We have had word from our contact in Cairo, Highness. The French consul is most grateful to hear that Madame Beaumarchais is alive and well. I have taken the liberty of making preparatory arrangements for her journey in line with his proposals.’

Zafar scanned the papers Firas handed him. ‘But this suggests she will leave in less than a week’s time,’ he said, frowning.

‘It is already five weeks since she arrived, Highness. If you remember, your orders were to make the arrangements as speedily as possible. I thought you would be pleased to finally have the matter resolved.’

Zafar got up from behind his desk and stared out of the window at the courtyard, where a bird was singing in the ancient cypress tree. ‘Has it really been five weeks?’

‘Indeed, Highness. Long enough for your people to speculate as to the...er...exact nature of Madame Beaumarchais’s position here. It has been a rare day when she has not been by your side, talking to you like a male courtier.’

‘Madame Beaumarchais is helping me with my plans for the establishment of a hospital, as you well know.’

‘Forgive me, Highness, but your people are wondering if you also have other plans for her? It has been two years since—It has been two years. It is not good for a man to be without the comfort a woman can provide, not good for Kharidja to be without the comfort of an heir. Every sovereign needs a consort. ‘

‘You would do well to remember that topic is taboo, Firas.’

His man of business blanched but pressed on resolutely. ‘Forgive me, Highness, but I must speak up, for the good of our kingdom. You need a wife. I have seen how you are when you are together. There is clearly something between you. It would be unconventional to say the least, but taking the Frenchwoman as your wife would meet with your people’s approval, I’m sure of it.’

‘Enough, Firas!’ Zafar interrupted tersely. ‘You go too far. I strongly suggest you restrict yourself to carrying out my wishes.’ Zafar handed the man the document outlining the proposals for Colette’s repatriation. ‘Make the necessary arrangements,’ he said, dismissing him with a curt nod.

As the door closed, Zafar returned to the window, staring out sightlessly at the courtyard. Never had five weeks passed so swiftly. It was not just the pleasures of the flesh he and Colette shared, though each night it seemed that they reached new, unimagined heights of ecstasy. Just thinking about it made him hard. That first night together, the exquisite pleasure of their joining, it had been almost overwhelming. Almost. He had been so close to spilling himself inside her, to losing himself in her. He had taken care not to do so again, even though the primal urge to possess her completely was almost impossible to resist. He could not risk the consequences. He did it for Colette’s sake, he told himself, though he knew it was as much for his own. To surrender in such a way would be folly when he knew she must leave. They were from different worlds, he reminded himself, and soon they must each return to their own.

Though he kept up the pretence of teaching her, he was learning far more from Colette than he cared to admit. Never before had he been with a woman so liberated by her sensuality, so unreserved in her expression of it.
My
pleasure
is
your
pleasure
, he told her, and never before had the words held such truth. Knowing that he had been her first true lover made him feel ridiculously pleased with himself. Thinking that she would take another... No, he could not think of that.

But they had shared more than just passionate nights. As Firas pointed out, she was more often than not by his side during the day, a friend and a confidante. He had never had either. He had not realised how lonely and isolated he had become. Colette had blurred the boundaries between night and day, prince and man.

He would miss her terribly. There, it was said. He would miss her, but there was nothing to be done about it. She did not belong here, and he could not, in any event, keep her with him. That, he had known from the beginning. Two years ago he had sworn never to take such a risk again. He would honour that vow.

* * *

Colette pushed the hospital plans to one side. She would never see it completed. It was unlikely that she’d even be here to see the foundations laid. A month, Zafar had said it would take to make arrangements for her return, and it had already been five weeks. How much longer did she have? She hadn’t asked, because she didn’t want to know the answer.

How was it possible to fall in love in five short weeks? Sighing, she made her way out of her quarters to take her favourite walk along the battlements. It was impossible not to fall in love with a man like Zafar, she thought, leaning over the parapet to watch the date harvest. She had loved Leon in a gentle way, but she had never been in love before. With Zafar it was different. What was surprising was that it had taken as long as five weeks for her to lose her heart to him. Not that it made any difference at all, for he did not love her, and even if he did, he deserved much better than a penniless foreign widow. A prince deserved a princess.

But he did not love her. Every time he made love to her, he gave a little less of himself, held himself back more. She no longer believed he did it for her sake only. It was a mental as well as a physical act, a retreat. It hurt, but she had only herself to blame for that fact. For her the passion between them had been a revelation, opening up the world of sensuality to her and in doing so giving her a new confidence in herself. She no longer felt incomplete, or that she was missing out on a secret. For her their lovemaking was just that, making love, mentally as well as physically. For Zafar it was merely physical.

Last night, when she had been floating blissfully in the aftermath of her climax, she had reached for him, wanting to prolong the intimacy. He rolled away from her on the pretext of fetching her mint tea, but she knew she had overstepped a mark. He never spent the whole night in the harem, never slept there. She had given up hoping that he would.

Yet in daylight, it seemed to her, they were truly intimate. He shared his thoughts, his ideas, his ambitions without reservation. She had never been with a man who was interested in her mind before. She had never had an intimate friend. With Zafar she had found both, and here was the root of the love that had blossomed in her for him. They were both by nature solitary. Together they had discovered the pleasure of not being alone, of sharing.

With another heavy sigh, Colette pushed herself away from the parapet and completed her tour of the battlements. The sun was at its highest, so she returned to the cool terraces around one of the many courtyards in the palace, wandering aimlessly from one to another before heading back to the harem. Still restless, she climbed the stairs to the second terrace. Her footprints left a trail in the dust as she went from room to room stacked with furniture and boxes.

Bending to examine a pretty inlaid chest, she caught her tunic on one of the handles. As she pulled open the drawer to free herself, something in the bottom glittered up at her. An ornate bracelet, made of gold and decorated with jewels. Blue, red and green, the royal colours. It was a beautiful piece, and undoubtedlyextremely valuable. She clasped it around her wrist and was admiring the intricate filigree work when the door to the courtyard creaked open.

‘Zafar, I’m up here.’ Colette ran lightly down the stairs to greet him. ‘You look very serious.’

‘Firas has had word from Cairo. You can leave within the week.’

Her heart plummeted. ‘Within the week.’

‘Yes, it is good news. I know how eager you must be to finally return to your homeland. It has been a long time.’

‘Yes.’ She nodded and summoned a bright smile because it was what he wanted of her, though she felt like bursting into tears. ‘And anyway, our agreement was only for a month. We are already on borrowed time.’

‘Indeed, I—Where did you get that?’

He was staring at her arm. At the bracelet. ‘Oh, I forgot I had put it on. I found it in a chest upstairs.’

‘Take it off. Immediately!’

His face was set rigid. Obviously it was very valuable. ‘I wasn’t going to steal it, if that is what you are thinking,’ Colette said, struggling with the clasp.

‘I said, take it off.’ Zafar cursed.

When she finally managed to undo the catch and hand it to him, Zafar stared at the bracelet as if it were cursed or possessed or both. Tentatively, she put her hand on his arm. ‘Zafar, what is it?’

‘It belonged to my wife. I gave it to her on our wedding day.’

‘But—you said you are not married.’

‘I’m not. Afifah is dead.’

‘Afifah,’ she repeated foolishly.

‘It means chaste and modest one. It suited her well.’

‘Afifah was your wife.’ Colette rubbed her eyes. ‘Why did you not tell me? Why has no one so much as mentioned her name? Why is there no trace of her here in the harem? I don’t understand, Zafar.’

‘I told you, this harem has not been used since my father’s time. My wife had her own quarters.’

‘Did you love her?’ The question was out before she could stop it.

‘Of course. She was my wife.’

Of
course
. Colette clasped her hands together tightly under the folds of her tunic. ‘What happened?’

What
happened
? Zafar stared down at the bracelet. Never since that fateful day had he talked about it. He could not think about Afifah without being overwhelmed with guilt.

‘Zafar?’

Colette was pale, her eyes dark with concern. Colette, who had been through so much but who was so fiercely determined not to allow herself to be broken. He twisted the bracelet around and around, remembering the care with which he had chosen each of the jewels, emerald, ruby and sapphire, remembering Afifah’s delight when he presented it to her. She was a hothouse flower, his wife, charming but fragile. Colette was made of sterner stuff. Colette was determinedly independent, infinitely practical, and yet in some ways she was more of a woman than Afifah had ever been. She challenged him. She gave as much as she took, in the dark of the harem and in the light of day. Would she understand? She would not lie to him, of that he was certain.