The Sultan's Bed (5 page)

“Oh my God, are you okay?”

She thought about telling Jane the truth, but didn't want her running home to help. “It's just a sprain. I'm fine—if you don't count the fifteen minutes of humiliation I had to endure.”

“What's there to be humiliated about? You fell—”

“Naked. I fell naked. And I was lying on our ratty bath mat totally naked when Mr. Gorgeous from next door heard me scream and busted in like a superhero to help me.”

“You're lying!”

“Do I sound like I'm lying?”

“Wow. So then what?”

Another swallow of wine. “So, then he picked me up and put me in my bed, called his doctor and then proceeded to tell me that he's staying with me until you get back.”

“I'll be home in two hours.” Panic dripped in Jane's voice.

“No,” Mariah said firmly. “Me and my bum ankle are not coming between you and your restaurant money.”

“Forget that. You've got a stranger taking care of you.”

“No. It's fine. He's fine. He's actually…” Mariah set the empty wineglass on her bedside table and reveled in the decadent relaxation she felt.

“Actually what, M?” Jane asked.

“A pretty nice guy if you ignore the killer looks, arrogant and opinionated attitude and irresistible mouth.”

“Oh, really?” Jane said, a wide grin in her tone. “Well, good for you. It's about time.”

“No, no, no. Nothing like that. If anything, he's into you. Whenever we have a conversation, the subject always seems to come back to you.”

“I don't know why. I've never met the guy.” Jane paused, then said, “So, are you sure I shouldn't come home?”

“You stay with the stick-figure actress and make a ton of money. I'll be good.”

“Oh, for once I hope not.”

Mariah grimaced, feeling tired and ready to crash. “'Night, Jane.”

“'Night.”

Mariah hung up the phone and without much thought popped a pain pill. Her mind was on her new roomie and his sexy bod on her old, plaid couch.

Sigh.

Maybe Jane should have come home, if only to protect Mariah against her own messed-up feelings. But Jane had been doing that for four years now. Wasn't it time Mariah protected herself?

Without an answer Mariah turned off the light and settled into the pillows, hoping sleep would soon seize her mind.

 

Zayad heard her get up and checked his watch.

Twenty minutes past one in the morning.

He hadn't been to sleep yet. Could not sleep, in fact. As he tried to maintain a semicomfortable position on the thin and frustratingly short couch, his mind rumbled with activity. Though not on the subject it should be on. No, he was thinking about the softness of his patient's cheek, the scent of her skin, the hunger in her eyes. She had made him weak with just a look, and he would wrestle a king snake for another moment such as that one.

How was he to stop himself from making love to her? How was he to remember his mission here if the one woman who held the key to that mission also held the key to a new and boundless pleasure?

Behind him he heard her shuffle in, the roughness of the boot brace apparent on the wood floors.

He sat up, turned to look at her. “Miss Kennedy?”

She gasped. Her hand flew to her throat and she said a little too loudly, “You scared the life out of me.”

“I apologize.”

She gripped the window ledge to hold herself steady as she stared at him. She looked like a beautiful phantom in the pale yellow light of the street lamp outside, and Zayad had to force himself to stay on the couch instead of going to her and pulling her into his arms. “What are you doing out of bed?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Then let me help you back.” He knew it was a mistake to go to her, but there was nothing for it. She needed his help.

She sagged against the window, her thin robe gaping at the chest, her eyes and head hanging down.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I don't really know. I'm kinda out of it.”

He tilted her chin up, made her gaze meet his. “Did you take more than one pain pill?”

She shook her head vigorously. “Nope. But I did have your wine.”

“That was not a wise decision.”

She gave him a mock frown, perhaps mimicking his own, then she pushed away from the window and leaned into him. “I wouldn't normally say this, but I find you very attractive.”

He smiled, could not help himself. “Thank you, Miss Kennedy. I find you very attractive, as well.”

“No ‘Miss Kennedy.' I'm not a schoolteacher, for heaven's sake.” She let her head fall against his chest. “But I think I've become a nun. Maybe you should call me Sister Mariah.”

“I do not think so.”

She looked up, her tiger's eyes warm and vulnerable. “What would you call me, then?”

He touched her face, his thumb moving over her cheekbone. “I would call you alive and desirable and filled with a hunger that needs to be satiated or—”

“Or I'll wilt.”

“It is possible.”

She sighed. “I know. I know. I've been celibate for too long.”

“You need sleep, Mariah. Let me take you back to bed.”

“No.” Her eyes on his, she grazed her lower lip with her teeth and said, “I think I'm going to kiss you.”

Zayad said nothing, just held her as she looked completely ready for his mouth on hers. He could not allow this, not in her state of mind. After all, he was no scoundrel. At least, he tried hard not to be.

No, he should not allow this.

But he did not have a choice as she fell against him, her arms wrapping around his neck, her fingers threading in his hair. With just a wisp of a smile she pressed his head down to hers and kissed him. It was unlike him, but he let her lead him, let her take the control and the pleasure that her body needed.

She sighed and tilted her head to reach him better as her fingers fisted in his hair. Zayad tried to slow his heart, ease the tightness in his chest, but it was not easy. Her kiss was slow and sensual, wet lips and soft tongue. He could not restrain himself. He nipped at her bottom lip, pressed his groin into her belly.

With great effort, Mariah eased back for a moment. Her eyes were liquid as she said, “I haven't done that in years.”

Zayad stilled, his arms around her. Years? That could
not be true. It was not possible that this striking female could go years without being kissed by a man.

Her eyes drifted closed, then opened, then closed, and Zayad knew she was starting to fade. Shifting his position, he gathered her in his arms and lifted her up.

Her head promptly fell against his shoulder as he carried her into the bedroom. “You will sleep late tomorrow, Mariah.”

“No,” she murmured. “Tomorrow I have to visit Mama Tara.”

“Your mother?” Zayad said, confused. “I thought you said you had no relatives to care for you—”

“She's not my real mother.”

Zayad thought it best not to ask her any more questions. She was exhausted and on a combination of pain medication and wine. It was time for her to sleep.

He laid her on the bed and tucked the covers under her chin. But she did not fall asleep immediately. She looked up at him, gave him a melancholy smile.

“You see, my parents died when I was twelve. My grandma raised me until I was eighteen, then she died, too. While she was alive, she wasn't all that active, so my best friend's mother—Tara—took me under her wing. She treated me like a daughter and she was every bit the mother to me.”

Shock bit him, made him feel slow and detached from time and the room. “Your best friend?”

“Jane.”

His gut clenched with tension. Could she be speaking of the same Tara? “Where is this woman now?”

Mariah closed her eyes, let her head drift to the side. “She lives in Ojai, at a beautiful facility there.”

“Facility. She is not ill?” He asked questions he knew the answers to. But he had to be certain.

“No. She's blind.”

Zayad's throat went dry. Yes, this was Tara.

Before he had seen the pictures that his investigators had supplied, he had built up an image of his father's American lover—wild and interested only in power and a rich lover. He had thought her like his son's mother. But in those photographs her face had shown none of these traits. Though he would see for himself.

“You will visit Tara tomorrow,” he told Mariah.

Mariah's lashes lifted and she stared at him, groggy and very beautiful in the moon's light. “But how? That infant doctor of yours—”

“I will take you myself.”

“He said I have to stay in bed for two days.”

“He wanted you off your foot. You will be off your foot.”

Her eyes narrowed lazily. “You're taking care of me, helping me with my next case and driving me to Tara's. What is it you want from me?”

He did not answer her query, but on his way out of the room said, “Get some rest. We will leave at nine.”

H
er pride hurt as much as her ankle the next morning.

Mariah sat in the passenger side of Zayad's black SUV as they raced up the 101 freeway. Her seat was slightly reclined and her booted ankle rested on a stack of pillows. Zayad had meant for her to be comfortable, but it was a lost cause. All she wanted to do was fade into the gray leather seats. She remembered everything that had happened last night, from her wine-induced rest on the window ledge to Zayad putting a gentlemanly arm around her waist to his not-so-gentlemanly kiss a moment later.

That last bit made her smile, so she turned to look out the window at the orange groves. Who was she trying to kid? Zayad may have kissed her back with dou
ble the heat and intensity of any man she'd ever known, but she'd been the instigator. She'd told him he looked mighty fine with her eyes, then gone in for the kill.

Damn that wine and pain medicine. They'd totally messed her up. She shouldn't be acting like a teenager anymore. She glanced over at Zayad, took in his chiseled features and those amazing, teasing, oh-so-full lips she'd felt last night. What did he think of her? He hadn't mentioned their make-out session last night or when he'd seen her this morning, and she couldn't read his eyes. With looks like that, maybe he was used to forward women.

Or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, maybe he hadn't really wanted to kiss her last night. Maybe he'd just been laying on the pity for the poor drugged-up cripple girl.

She mentally groaned.

Can I get any more pathetic?

Her gaze slipped from his face down to his neck, then lower still. Along with those amazing lips, she'd felt his chest and arms. Hard as steel and corded with muscle. Too bad he'd covered them up today, she thought, giving in to the thoughts of her wanton-woman alter ego. But his clothes did flatter what he had in spades. Tan pants that showed off his tight backside to perfection and a crisp white shirt open at the nape. If she wasn't so reclined, she mused, she could probably have a nice look at that muscle.

She frowned and shifted in the leather bucket seat. She needed to get her mind out of the proverbial gutter and onto something safer.

Casually she glanced around. “This is a nice car.”

“Thank you.”

“You must sell a lot of those swords.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “They are very popular.”

“I'm sure they are.”

“There are many who enjoy a beautiful blade.”

“Of course. So, why come to Ventura to work, then? Wouldn't Los Angeles be a better—”

“A better what?”

“Well, not better but a more lucrative place to collect pieces and sell them? Lots of stars and eccentric people who would be interested in adding a sword to their eclectic art collections?”

He glanced over at her, haughtiness in his gaze. “Do you feel life is only about gain, about money?”

The question made her laugh. This was the first time in her life she'd been accused of such a thing. “Of course not. Look at the work that I do.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps you do such work for more than just altruistic reasons.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I do not know. I do not know your past or what drives your decisions now, but the way you speak of men, of winning for your clients, it is—”

“It's personal, Mr. Fandal,” she interrupted, her words sounding far too tight.

Zayad said nothing to this and she stared past him to the ocean. Wild and inviting yet a bit intimidating at times. And the sand, soft and steady. Zayad had seen her soft last night, had seen the woman in her and not just the acerbic machine-for-hire she was at work. Perhaps he'd liked what he'd seen. Now the severe woman he'd met on the doorstep had returned. Normally at a
moment like this, with an encounter that had nothing to do with work, she'd tuck her tail between her legs and retreat.

Her gaze flickered toward him. “Look, I didn't mean to jump on you—”

He turned, eyes suddenly filled with humor.

She laughed, a little shyly at first. “You know what I mean.” She paused, then lifted her hands in mock surrender. “The thing is, you're right. I have some stuff in my past that drives most of my decisions today. But honestly I believe my reasons for doing what I do are altruistic in nature.”
At least I hope so.
The afterthought alarmed her, so she decided not to examine it. She chose to return to a familiar subject.

“So, back to the beginning of this conversation. Ventura, California. Why?”

“Would it be too poetic to say that the ocean is a welcome tonic to my wearied senses?”

She followed along. “And that the glitz and glamour of Hollywood would bore you to tears, make you long for the simpler life?”

“Exactly.” He grinned, gave her a wink. “I think you understand me, Miss Kennedy.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, let's drop the ‘Miss.' I'm Mariah and you're—”

“Yes? Who am I?”

You're too gorgeous, too generous, too interesting and way too irresistible.
“I think I'll save that answer until I know you better.”

“And you are planning on knowing me better?”

There was a racehorse inside her chest thump, thump, thumping along, but she managed to say, “Well,
since we're sort of stuck together, I don't know what choice I have…”

The corners of his mouth lifted in one sexy smile. “I like this…stuck together.”

God help her, so did she. She turned and faced forward. She could hardly feel the ache in her ankle anymore. The ache in her heart, breasts and core had drowned out the pain.

 

This Ojai…

Around and around they drove, up the mountain and through the towns, with no security trailing behind—as he had instructed.

Zayad could not help but feel drawn to this spot. There were shades of Emand here, particularly the sultan's palace gardens. Fruit trees, perfect lawns and a sky so intense a blue, he wondered for a moment if he were at home.

He grinned. All that was missing were the golden sands.

He did not glance to his right, but knew he had his golden sands beside him. They dwelled in Mariah's eyes. Eyes that had haunted him through a painfully sleepless night. Eyes that had drawn him to that soft mouth, that pink tongue, that taste of wine and mystery.

“I love coming up here,” Mariah said, ripping Zayad from his thoughts. “It's so different than the beachy areas, you know?”

Zayad pulled onto Main Street. “The mountains are beautiful, as are the pear and walnut trees.”

“It's really peaceful. I'd love to move my practice up here sometime. Maybe get a horse.”

“You like to ride?”

“I do. I'm not great at it, but I love the feeling of animal and person being one.”

Horse and rider—one being. Zayad had said this many times. His gaze swept over her fitted white sundress. Yes, she would love his country.

“And of course,” she continued, “I would love being closer to Tara.”

Ah, yes, Zayad mused, his mood darkening slightly. The reason he had come here today. Tara. “What of Jane? Does she want to be near her mother, as well?”

The mention of Jane brought a slight frown to Mariah's lips. “Of course she does. She's tried to get a chef's job here, but the competition is stiff and the money's worse. That's why she's working so hard. She's trying to save enough cash to open her own restaurant up here.”

Not if he had anything to say on the matter. Jane was an Emand princess. She need not work if she did not want to. And if she did, no door would be closed to her, and money would be no object. But she would be in Emand, not Ojai.

He turned back to Mariah. “If Jane moved here, where would that leave you?”

“What?”

“She is your closest friend, yes?”

Mariah paused, felt a sudden tug at her heart. She swallowed hard. “She's my best friend.”

“And you have no lover, correct?”

“We've already covered this, haven't we?”

He chuckled. “We have.”

“And that's by choice, by the way.”

“Yes, of course. But my point is this—if your friend moves, where does that leave you?”

She shrugged and fastened on her ol' reliable tough-cookie attitude—the one that was complete BS but made her feel in control and less like a loser. “That leaves me alone, I guess.”

“And this is good for you?”

“I don't see you with a wife and a boatload of friends by your side. Must be good for you, too.”

He took a moment in answering. “Yes, but alas…”

“Alas what?”

“A man can do very well—”

“Don't even go there, buddy.” She pointed her finger at him. “Don't even say that a man is programmed to wander the earth alone, never needing to fully bond with one person. And that a woman requires a mate to be happy and fulfilled.”

He shrugged. “All right, I will not say it—but only because I could not say the words as well as you just have.” He grinned.

She wanted to toss him a huge frown, maybe a little sneer if she could muster it, but nothing negative sprouted from her heart. And even more annoying, she couldn't stop the smile that tugged at her lips. The guy was clever and drop-dead handsome and he made her weak—in more ways than one. She shook her head. “I think I'm not meant to find true happiness with someone. I don't believe in happily ever after anymore and I don't believe in soul mates.”

“Neither do I. I have always been happiest when I am alone.”

Why did that admission sadden her so much when her own had filled her with confidence?

He continued to say, “But I have never met a woman who also felt this way.”

“Surprises you, huh?”

“Very much.” His gaze moved over her. “You have been nothing but surprising to me, Mariah.”

Her belly twisted and warmed under his gaze, and she turned to face the road. They were only about a block away from Tara's place. Good thing, too. If Mariah didn't watch her step, instead of telling him she was going to kiss him, she'd be coaxing him into the backseat of this truck.

She took a deep breath and said, “Turn at the next light.”

 

The apartment the assisted-living coordinator showed them into was painted in bright, bold colors, and Zayad thought it interesting that a woman without sight lived in such a vivid atmosphere. The furniture was more of the same—a menagerie of red and gold and blue pieces, though all looked comfortable and at home in the rather small space.

Zayad's gaze shifted and he noticed a potter's wheel was set up in one corner of the room, facing a set of charming French doors, where a cool breeze floated in.

When the aide left, Zayad gestured to the wheel and asked Mariah, now ensconced on the red couch, “Who is the artist?”

“Tara is.”

“She does not share this room with another?”

“Nope.”

“But how would she work…?”

“She is an amazing woman.” Mariah smiled at Zayad with eyes that read, “Just wait until you meet her.” “She lets nothing stop her—especially when she wants something badly enough.”

He wanted to remark that Tara sounded like a wonderful, brave and interesting woman, but he felt he would wait to meet the woman first.

“I have guests.”

The cheerful, husky tone came from the doorway. Zayad looked up in time to see a tall, slim, long-legged woman in her midfifties with short blond hair streaked with an attractive pale gray. She wore a flowing orange dress with beaded earrings to match. She was very beautiful, but there was far more to her than her looks. This was a woman who was overflowing with life, happiness and an open spirit. Zayad understood at once why his father had been drawn to this woman.

Tara thrust her hands to her hips. “Where's my lovely Mariah? Why isn't she running over here to greet me?”

“I would run over to you, Tara,” said Mariah, her eyes bright with the warmth one felt for someone they loved greatly. “I hurt my ankle last night.”

Hearing her voice brought Tara straight to Mariah. She sat beside Mariah on the couch, fumbled just a bit for her hand. “It is of no importance. You came, my little one, that's what matters. Now, what's wrong with your ankle?”

“It's just a little bruise.” Mariah glanced up at Zayad and smiled. “No worries.”

Tara feigned gruffness. “It is my right to worry about you.”

Mariah laughed. “I know.”

“So, you didn't drive yourself up here, did you?” Tara turned, tilted her chin and faced Zayad. “Who have you brought with you?”

Zayad stepped back, feeling strange and slightly uncomfortable at how easily she had found him.

“How did you…?” Mariah laughed. “Of course.”

Of course? What, of course?
He had made no sound, no movement, no indication that he was in the room. He wanted to know what the mystery was.

“This is my neighbor,” Mariah explained. “And…well, friend. He graciously offered to bring me up here even though I've been a real pain in the neck to him.”

“Ah, my girl, your spirit is your charm.” Tara stood, walked straight to Zayad and extended her hand. “Is it not?”

Zayad took her hand. “It is.”

Her brows drew together. “Does this friend have a name?”

Zayad bent and kissed her hand. “My name is Zayad.”

Confusion, then an unmistakable shadow of alarm moved across Tara's features and she eased her hand from his. All warmth, confidence and animation seemed to melt away from her expression, and Zayad wondered how well she had known her lover. Had she known of his family? His children's names?

It seemed she did.

“Are you two hungry?” Tara asked, recovering quickly and turning away from him.

“A little,” Mariah said.

“Good. I'll go and get our lunch, then we can have a nice chat. I can't wait to hear what's been going on with you. And of course, finding out more about your new neighbor and what he's doing so far from home.”