Sheikh's Command (6 page)

“That wasn't what I was thinking at all,” she said. “Though perhaps I should be the one saying that to you.”

He frowned at her. “What do you mean by that?”

“I came in here, and I threw myself at you,” she said, sounding a little miserable even in her own ears. “I … I know I should take a hint, know when I am not wanted, but …”

She caught his expression of exasperated disbelief right before he strode over to the bed. Somehow the towel stayed in place, but then he was bending over her, pinning her down to the mattress, and that towel was the last thing on her mind.

“I will prove to you, right here and right now, exactly how I feel about that …”

She started to reply, but then his lips were pressed to hers, and he was kissing her as if the world would end when they stopped. His tongue slid between her lips, thrusting deep into her mouth, and from the tension of his body, there was no doubt at all as to what was on her mind. She was frozen for just a moment, but then when she got her wits back together, she threw her arms around his shoulders, returning the kiss with a kind of intensity she had never felt before.

All of a sudden, it did not matter in the least why she was here or what they were to each other. It didn't matter that he was a sheikh and she was a girl who had managed to miss most of high school. All that mattered was how vital they felt in each other's arms, how warm he was, how good he felt as he kissed her like she had never been kissed.

When he finally stood up again, her mouth felt bruised, and everything seemed too bright, as if simply his kissing alone had dazed her.

“Makeen …”

“Do not,” he said with a shudder, “call my name like that again unless you are prepared to answer for the consequences of your actions. Right now, you should get in the shower and wash up. I'll have breakfast going by the time you are done.”

“But …”

“Are you taking my orders or not, woman? Go.”

She laughed a little at his words, shaking her head. After a moment of deliberation, she wrapped the sheet around her body and padded to the bathroom. She could feel his eyes on her the entire way, and when she closed the door behind her, she sighed.

Things are never simple,
she thought to herself, but as she stepped under the hot water, Olivia found herself smiling a little.

It's so much better when they're not …

***

When she climbed out of the shower and dragged a soft blue dress over her head, she poked her head into the hallway and realized that she could smell something delicious. Olivia followed her nose down the hallway and was rewarded with the sight of Makeen, shirtless in nothing more than a pair of jeans, tending a skillet over the stove. She hopped up on one of the kitchen stools, setting her chin in her hand as she watched him.

“That feels like something you should have ordered me to do,” she observed, and Makeen shot her a dry look.

“How much cooking have you done?”

“Some. I can fry eggs and make toast, at least.”

“I took a cooking class for a few months. I like being able to eat things that aren't charred.”

She tilted her head as he plated up an omelet, setting it to join another that was already plated on the counter.

“Cooking—isn't that a slightly strange pastime for a member of the royal family?”

He shrugged, bringing the plates to the kitchen island. “My father and mother both believed that there was nothing to be gained by spoiling me. I should at least know how to do work even if I would never have to do it for a living. I was taught that learning keeps you humble and makes you a better person.”

“They sound very wise,” Olivia said, biting her lip. “I noticed that you used the past tense.”

“They are both dead. They went within a week of each other. My father died in a plane crash, and my mother … sickened after. It was a great tragedy for the country.”

“And for you?”

He paused, and she wondered if she had gone too far. She held her breath, but then he shrugged.

“It is a wound that heals slowly, but I do not think it will ever be entirely gone. I go months without thinking about them, and then suddenly I wonder what my father would have done, or what my mother would have said. It is, as they say, a process.”

Without thinking of what she was doing, she reached out to touch his hand. There was nothing sexual about it, nothing flirtatious. All she wanted to do was to offer him some of the sympathy that she felt. He looked up, surprised at her touch, but the look he flashed her was grateful.

“It is not always at the forefront of my mind. I have grieved, and I have moved on.”

“You do them great credit,” she said, and he sighed.

“I hope so. And you? Do your parents know that you are here?”

She flinched at that. Instead of answering right away, she looked down at the plate of food in front of her.

“Ah … Have I asked something that I should not have asked?”

“No … that is, no. Not really. It is only that my parents … are not the most attentive people. They are very single-minded, and well … Yes, they know I am here, and approval is not something I worry about, because approval has never been a thing that they have given me.”

The look on Makeen's face was stormy, and she rushed to cover. “It's not important, we are just … very different people …”

He looked her right in the eyes, his gaze so dark and intense that she stammered to a stop.

“They have raised a daughter with skill and honor, though from what you have told me, you are simply a miracle rather than the result of any effort of theirs. They should be proud of you, and if they are not, then that is their loss.”

Unaccountably, she felt tears prickle at her eyes. Olivia blinked furiously and dug into her omelet, unwilling to give in to those emotions in front of this man. When she had taken a few bites, she felt better able to speak with him without bursting into tears.

“So you said we'd talk today.”

He sighed, almost comically. She had thought that he was a handsome man when she had first seen him in the street. He certainly was beautiful when he was naked. However, there was something strange about seeing him in the bright morning sunlight, drying hair revealing a slight surprising curl in its length, and barefoot eating his breakfast. He was still handsome, but more than that, there was something strangely touchable about him. There was something about Makeen in this mode that made her want to walk over and plant a kiss on his cheek.

“I did say that, didn't I? Very well, Olivia, … what do you think you are doing here?”

She blinked at him. Of all things, she figured that they had at least covered that one. “I came here to save my brother. I'm meant to be doing whatever you tell me to do.”

He flinched a little at that, making her think of how he had looked the night before. Before she could shrink into herself, however, he reached across the island and squeezed her hand.

“I am here because a beautiful woman made me an offer,” he said softly. “I'll admit, I am just a man. When you offer me anything I want … there is a place that my mind goes. However, no matter what you might say to the contrary, that is not something I can indulge in right now.”

Olivia bit her lip. “Why not?” she asked.

“Because when I agreed, I should have been playing the long game. I … I don't want you to lie in bed, your eyes closed and thinking of anything to remove yourself from the situation. I want you to be there with me. I want you to breathe us in and to truly feel what I feel when we make love.”

His words took her breath away, and in that moment, it was all she could do not to simply take his hand and take him to bed. However, he wasn't done yet.

“And the entire time we have known each other, we have been running. We have been scheming and moving and learning and there has been no time at all to simply stop. To learn each other. That is what we need, and that is what I want this month to be about. Do you think that that is something you could give to me, Olivia?”

She hesitated. He was asking for a great deal more than simply her body in his bed. Somehow, the idea of giving him her body was far less frightening than the idea of giving him what he was asking for now. He wanted something deeply personal, something that wasn't just her body, but her. She had never given that to another person. She wasn't sure she could.

Olivia started to tell him so, but then she met his eyes. She had always thought that they were black, but with the morning sun, she could see that they were actually the deepest velvety brown. There was something frankly pleading there, and it was not within her ability then to deny him.

“All right,” she whispered. “I … I will try. I can't promise you anything …”

He broke into a wide grin. There was something boyish about it that touched her heart. Suddenly it felt as if a great weight had rolled off of her shoulders. Something that had been sitting dark and grim on her for years suddenly disappeared.

“All I ask is that you try,” he said. “That is all I wish, I swear.”

“I'll try,” she repeated, and for the first time, she thought that there might be something between them that was more than just physical.

***

After breakfast, he pulled her outside onto the mountain slopes. It was a shockingly green place, for all that the air was dry and arid, and she looked around herself curiously.

“When most people picture Zahar, this is not what they picture,” she said. “This wouldn't be out of place in the Pacific Northwest.”

He nodded absently. “This is a strange place in many ways. Our scientists have learned that it is fed by underground streams and by rain that falls nowhere else in the country. The ancients considered it a sacred place, one of great holiness and strange things. They said it was the worst of luck to venture into it in the middle of the night, when jinn and other strange beings used it for their meetings.”

She shivered a little. Olivia could see it. This place was beautiful, but there was something terribly lonely and isolated about it. She could well imagine strange figures coming to converse and parley here, and that a pair of simple human eyes would be unwelcome.

“So of course your ancestors decided to build a cabin here?”

Makeen threw his head back and laughed, and when he glanced back at her, his grin was boyish. “And right there, you have placed a finger on what it is that sets my ancestors apart,” he said. “A great deal of ambition, a lack of interest in danger, and a love of grand structures that will last for hundreds of years, all designed to impress the women that they desire most.”

She grinned in return at that. For a few moments, they walked in silence, but then she had another question. “Why do you desire me?”

He glanced back at her, his expression wry. “Are you fishing for compliments?”

She blushed, but shook her head. “Not at all. But I am curious. You are the Sheikh. You could have your pick from women all over the world. I'm even fairly sure that I have seen tabloids that link you with models and actresses. You picked me off of a street corner and gave me your personal number. I'll be honest, I feel like a goldfish that you picked out of a bowlful of a thousand other similar goldfish and then declared special.”

Makeen didn't stop walking. Instead, he only laughed a little. “Truly? You must not look in a mirror very often.”

“Is that a way of saying that I need to brush my hair?”

“Not at all. I'm just saying that you have never seen yourself when you are standing on a street corner, your eyes half-closed, the sun and wind in your hair, and all of your attention on your music. You seem to have no idea how beautiful you are when you are consumed by your passion. The first time I saw you, I had to stop, first to listen, and then simply to watch you. If you were so passionate about your music, I thought, what would it have been like to have you in my bed?”

Olivia nearly choked when she heard his explanation. She stopped dead for a few steps before she hurried after him.

“And you got all of that from simply standing by and watching me play my violin?” she demanded.

“Yes. In a heartbeat.”

She might seriously have to think about what she was doing when she was out busking, but she pushed the thought away. If she followed it up, she would have ended up back on the letter for Johannesburg, and the one that was coming from Berlin. There were things she had lost that she did not regret, but she knew that she could not dwell on them, at least not now.

She followed him in silence until he stopped short, pointing ahead. Following his gesture, she could see a single swing suspended from a tall tree.

“Pretty,” she said, uncertainly, and he grinned at her again.

“Step forward slowly, and look down.”

Confused, she did what he said, and then she gasped. Directly beyond the tree was a steep and sudden drop-off, one that culminated in a rock floor some hundreds of feet below. Her heart pounding and her stomach falling like a brick, she stumbled back, looking at Makeen wide-eyed.

“Are you serious?” she asked.

He laughed at her shock. “I came up here once after my parents died to see this place. There were stories about this swing.”

Curiosity overcame her fear, and she tilted her head curiously at him. “Did you get on it?”

“Then? No. I thought perhaps that I would give it a try today. What about you? Do you want to?”

She bit her lip. Every bit of her common sense was telling her not to do this ridiculously foolish thing. It told her that under no circumstances should she get onto a swing that hung out over a steep drop and a fatal fall. However, there had been something growing in her ever since she laid eyes on Makeen. If he had looked at her and seen passion, she had looked at him and seen a kind of adventure that she had never thought possible.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I do.”

“It's not safe,” he warned her, a bright light in his eyes. She knew then and there that he was teasing her, but she couldn't bring herself to care, not when there was an adventure awaiting.

“Do you mean that the chains are rotted through or something?”

He shook his head. “I had them replaced myself, and the tree has stood firm for years. No, I'm just saying that something like this, it is never entirely safe.”