Darker Side of Desire & the Sheikh's Pregnant Prisoner(45)

The door to his office burst open. He bit back the scathing words that rose to his lips at the sight of Farrah, fear etched into her unlined face. Followed closely by a stone-faced Arif.

Unknown dread fisted his throat.

“Zafir,” Farrah said, “Lauren…she has been kidnapped.”

His chest felt as if there was a vise clamping it. “She…what?” he mumbled, his voice barely recognizable to his own ears. “How?”

“She,” Arif still wouldn’t utter Lauren’s name, “convinced Farrah to let her help the Dahab tribe woman who went into labor just as Farrah was getting ready to attend another woman.”

The mere mention of the Dahab made his heart thud.

“And?” he exploded.

“By the time I got there…” Farrah was distraught. “No one knew where Lauren was. The Dahab woman, her baby, her husband, even Ahmed, were all gone.”

“When was this?”

“Three days ago.”

With a growl, Zafir pushed at his chair.

The revolving chair crashed into the chest behind him, scattering the contents—a flower vase, and a framed photo of his father that fell to the rug with a soft thump.

Lauren’s face swam into his vision, fear stealing his very thoughts. If something happened to her all because he had selfishly involved her in his life…

He ran a hand over his forehead, the headache that had been coming on all day crystallizing into a pounding behind his eyes.

Farrah stepped toward him, her hands clasped together in front of her. “I’m so sorry, Zafir.”

But knowing Lauren’s stubborn will, he couldn’t blame Farrah.

“I sent a message to the Dahab in your name,” Arif said, “but as usual, they have ignored any communication. The palace guard reports them traveling east into the desert.”

Had they taken her because she was carrying his child? As revenge against his father?

Dahab didn’t care for the ways of the outside world including Behraat.

But they had good reason to hate his family. If his father had brought shame on them, Tariq had hunted them across the desert. Every instinct clamored to order his Special Forces Air Team, to use his might to pluck Lauren from their midst.

But he couldn’t.

Even if it was a huge risk to Lauren and his unborn child, he had to do it the peaceful way.

“Arrange transportation for me, alone.” If he descended on them with men and weapons, the rift would only widen and become something he couldn’t resolve in his lifetime. “If they harm her in any way, they’ll face my wrath,” he said, knowing that he would destroy everything in his path if she even had a scratch.

* * *

Lauren shot up from the worn-out divan, a sound hurling her from the hazy edges of her afternoon nap into wide-eyed alertness in the space of a breath.

The chief of the tribe had ensured her that she’d be safe with them, that no one would harm her, when they’d asked her to accompany them three days ago. But the pitch-black of the night outside the tent, the thick silence that descended when the encampment settled for the night, had unnerved Lauren.

Yet she’d learned she’d been right to trust him. Even though he had accompanied her, she hadn’t seen Ahmed once they had reached the Dahab’s encampment though. Nor had there had been any word from Farrah, which worried her the most.

Then she realized what had woken her up. She saw the long shadow, clearly male, over the silk partition that curtained the room off from the rest of the tent.

She was rubbing her eyes when Zafir marched inside, his broad frame shrinking the tent. Greedy for the sight of him, she drank him in.

There were dark shadows under his eyes. His jet-black hair was rumpled in a sexy, inviting, run-your-fingers-through-me way, as if he had already done that numerous times. His white cotton shirt and light blue jeans did nothing to dampen the effect of his masculinity.

She’d barely drawn a breath when she was ensconced against a hard chest. Hands anchored on his hips, she shuddered. Rough hands moved over her back urgently, the upper curve of her bottom, her hips, her stomach…and stilled. Heart slamming hard against her rib cage, Lauren held herself still while the scent of desert and pure, intoxicating male filled her nostrils.

A soundless whimper ricocheted through her as her body adjusted against his hard muscles.

Soft pressure on her nape tilted her head up. A scowl pulled his brows together, his eyes shimmering golden with emotion she’d never glimpsed before.

Mouth groggy, belly knotted, she squeaked out his name. “Zafir?”

Seconds passed before he responded but it felt like an eternity. Tenderness flew from his fingers where he clasped her cheeks. “You look tired.”

Her throat hoarse, she nodded, sinking into his embrace foolishly.

Just one minute, she told herself. Just one minute before she reminded herself why this wasn’t a good idea.

But that minute was barely done before she was released.

Blinking, she looked up at him.

Hard edges, inscrutable expression, thinned mouth, everything she didn’t like about him was back.

“Pack your things. We’re leaving,” he said dismissively, his gaze taking in her tent.

Stuffing her few things into her backpack, Lauren turned and found the tent ominously empty.

Ahmed stood outside, a paleness under his tanned skin, his gaze dutifully shied away from her.

Zafir, his gaze not leaving her, listened with his head bowed to the chief of the tribe. Lauren nodded and smiled when the new mom Salma pressed a silk scarf into her hands and hugged her.

A small crowd of women and children waved at her while men surrounded Zafir and the chief, but at a distance. But Lauren could feel the distrust and animosity that surrounded him.

Had she caused trouble for him again?

Coffee-colored dunes stretched toward the horizon in front of her while the Dahab encampments lay behind her. The same 4x4 was idling on the road.

When Ahmed, without touching her, nodded for her to move toward the vehicle, she searched for Zafir.

His thundering presence beside her robbed her words. “Do me the small courtesy of pretending I can control you, yes?” he gritted through his teeth. A low vibration raced along her lower back.

Instantly, his hold loosened. Swallowing her flippant “thank you” for his condescending tone, she nodded.

Within minutes, Zafir and she hurtled along the rough track, hugging narrow paths through the dunes.

“Aren’t we returning to the city?” she asked and got a sharp “no” in answer.

Pulling her gaze away from that chiseled profile, she kept her hands in her lap.

* * *

Zafir’s mind raced like the sand that flew from dune to dune shifting the very landscape of the harsh desert.

His anxiety about Lauren had lasted two minutes after he had entered the chief’s tent.

Shame had his fingers tighten over the steering wheel as he remembered the chief’s disbelief at Zarif’s accusations.

“Your father and you have forgotten tradition, our roots, the very fabric that makes the Bedouin life.”

Every word, spoken in a soft yet steely tone, was true.

To assume that they would have harmed a hair on Lauren, on any woman, pregnant or otherwise, had been pure ignorance and blind prejudice.

The tribes were known for their hospitality, their generosity to even an enemy requesting shelter, legendary.

“We give our women protection, a respectable place in life. Not keep them as prisoners or mistresses.”

That statement lashed against his sense of honor.

Knowing the route to the oasis like the back of his hand, he chanced a glance at Lauren. Her head tilted back against the seat, and her eyes closed, he saw the resolute tilt of her chin, the long line of her throat, her fingers laced tightly in her lap.

Still, there was a knot in his chest, a leftover from his fear for her and the baby.

“This woman carrying your child is brave, kind, strong…” the chief had said. “Marry her, Zafir. Make her your sheikha and we will end this enmity between the tribes and the state. We will forget what your father did to one of our daughters.”

Bringing the tribes back into the fold would be the advantage he needed. Not even the High Council could fault his power, or his reign then. For he would be fixing a fracture in the very fabric of their nation.

Behraat would be strong and one again, after three decades of being torn apart by his father’s selfish and scandalous pursuit of a young, innocent woman from the tribes.

All he had to do was marry the woman carrying his child, the woman that set fire to his blood, the woman who…

Might hate to be used as a pawn in his game for power, his conscience piped up.

It is a gift, Zafir, some devil inside his head said. It’s the one gift you have received in your hard, betrayed, duty-bound, cursed life, it whispered.

Lauren and this child and the ability to finally unite Behraat and rule it, it was all a gift.

She had always wanted his commitment, a definition to their relationship, hadn’t she?

Here it was. The biggest commitment he had ever made, except to Behraat.

He couldn’t squander this gift.

Not if it would bring legitimacy to his child and his power.





CHAPTER EIGHT

THEY TRAVELED ON for what seemed like the better part of an hour. Lauren fidgeted in her seat, trying to work out a kink in her shoulder.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Came the instant question from Zafir.

“I’m fine.”

The track vanished halfway through, until it seemed as if they climbed hundreds of feet up a giant ocher sand mound that offered panoramic views of the desert floor and then suddenly evened out again.