Darker Side of Desire & the Sheikh's Pregnant Prisoner(46)

Her eyes wide, Lauren took in the landscape as the jeep came to a halt.

Miles and miles of rippled, undulating dunes rose in all four directions, the harsh beauty of it stealing her breath. Against the backdrop of the desolate sands lay a lush encampment, eons away in scale and quality from the Dahab’s tents, a stark contrast to the stretching emptiness.

Tall palms behind the two curved tents formed a dense circular perimeter as far as she could see. The early evening sun streaked everything reddish orange.

It was breathtaking, tremendous, and it made her concerns seem so small.

She pulled out her cell phone. But remembered her battery had drained a few hours after she had arrived at the Dahab camp.

Hearing Zafir’s tread, she turned around. “Do you have your phone?”

He looked at her outstretched hand, beating a path up her arm, her neck and then settling on her face. Something shimmered in his eyes then. A possessive glint. A triumphant light that sent goose bumps over her skin even under the relentless heat. “It’s a little late to call for help.” But he pulled his phone out.

Grabbing the phone from his hand, she turned around to click a selfie with the dazzling encampment behind her. She knew she was acting a little juvenile and a lot irreverent tourist but after that glimpse of fire in his eyes and the absence of another soul around for as far as she could see, she wasn’t eager to go into the tent.

“Is there no one else here?”

Something gleamed in his eyes. “The servants are trained to be not seen or heard.”

Which didn’t help her any. “Could you take a pic for me?”

“A pic?” he repeated with quiet murder in his tone.

“Yes.” She placed her hands on her hips. “And no, I won’t sell pictures of the Sheikh of Behraat’s oasis hideaway in the desert even if I was paid a million dollars.” She swiped a trickle of sweat from her forehead. “As far as I can see, there’s no interrogation room here either, so come on.”

With a sudden movement that made her heart crawl to her throat, he grabbed the phone from her hand, and marched to the entrance and held the flap open.

Do not poke the grumpy bear, Lauren.

She entered the tent.

A burst of rich color, deep purples and sheer violets, greeted her everywhere she looked. Brass tables set with more lanterns and tea lights, handcrafted rugs strewed around, it was a sight to behold. Two veiled areas separated away from the lounge where they stood.

One had a myriad of dishes laid out on low tables guessing by the delicious aroma wafting toward her and the other contained a low but vast bed with a million pillows of all shapes and sizes on it. Bed big enough for two. A thick fur rug lay neatly folded at the bottom while a small brass-legged washstand with a basin stood against the far corner.

Swallowing the sudden tension, she faced the silent six-foot-two-inch male staring at her. His very silence sent her nerves thrumming. “I like it. Which tent is yours?” she said with a cheer that hurt her own head.

“This.”

Thud went her heart against her rib cage. “The other one’s mine then?”

She moved to his side, or tried to. Viselike fingers clamped her arm and pulled her to the seating area behind them.

With precise movements that actually betrayed his ruffled temper, he poured water into a copper tumbler and handed it to her. “Drink before you expire from the heat.”

She took the tumbler and drank the water without a word. Choosing the divan farthest from him, she sank onto it. The bed was soft and comfy so she tucked her legs beneath her and leaned against the tent wall.

Heart tattooing in her chest, she lifted her head and met his gaze. Before he could take the little place left next to her, she groaned and stretched her legs, tilting to the side.

Something like a curse fell from his mouth before he chose the divan perpendicular to hers. His long legs spread out before him, he sat straight unlike her. As if he suspected that she would run and he would need to pounce.

“Where do you think I’m going to run to,” she said slowly.

His head jerked up, his entire frame unnaturally still. “You’re the most infuriating, exhausting woman I’ve ever met.”

Fury. Impatience. Worry. She frowned at the last.

“Are you hungry?”

She shook her head while casting her mind around to find any excuse to postpone the storm she could sense brewing between them. There was a sense of calculation, a sense of coiled energy about him, as if he was deciding what to do with her and it let loose panic in her tummy.

Looking down at her wrinkled tunic, she scrunched her nose. “I need a shower and an early night. I didn’t get my turn to shower this evening before you stormed in there.” She added a little sigh to that to convince him.

His eyes narrowed.

“I spent most of the last two nights by Salma’s side helping her while she recuperated.”

The muscles in his face relaxed, just enough to let her breathe fully. “Why you? Where were her mother and aunts?”

“Bashir’s continual presence in the tent chased them off.”

“Bashir?”

“Her husband. Salma lost a lot of blood and he’s determined to help her with the night feedings, and changing the baby and burping her and so on… Apparently, the women in the camp thinks it’s scandalous for him to be spending so much time with her when she’s not up to her usual duties yet.”

This time, he frowned. And she thought how cute he looked when he didn’t understand something. Which was very rare. “What usual duties?”

“Really, Zafir… Her wifely duties,” she said with an arch to her tone.

Understanding dawned in his golden gaze. He ran a hand through his hair and she wondered if he was trying not to look at her. He cleared his throat then, and Lauren knew, just knew, that he didn’t want to hear any more.

So, of course, she elaborated.

“They seemed to think Bashir wanting to help his wife when he couldn’t get sex out of her was strange and shocking. Imagine that.

“Even Salma was shy at first but I convinced her that it was very important for the baby to bond with the father as well as the mother, for them as a family.”

His gaze jerked to hers and held it. Challenge simmered there and her gut swooped. “What was she shy about?”

She shrugged, cursing herself inwardly for the heat rising up her neck. “I told Salma that feeding the baby in front of her husband is the most natural thing in the world and that she should be glad that she has a husband who wanted to pitch in and do the dirty work, not just strut around like a peacock and announce that his boys were good swimmers.”

His long fingers pressed at his temple and then rubbed his face. But he couldn’t quite hide the amusement in his eyes. “You did not say that.”

“I did.” The expression she’d seen on the couple’s faces made her grin. “Bashir dropped a pile of baby clothes while Salma, with a blank face, said they didn’t have boys. He wouldn’t meet my gaze for the rest of the night. Once he left, she asked me to explain.

“When I did, she was both amazed and a little horrified, I think.”

“Not all men strut around claiming that their…” A dark flush claimed his cheeks. “Whatever it is you said. I didn’t strut.”

“Well, you’re not really the strutting kind.”

“No?” His mouth twitched now. “I feel as though my machismo has been reduced. What kind am I?”

“Please. Like you don’t know.”

It was his turn to shrug now. “I would like to hear it in your words.”

“Blatant sexuality oozes out of every pore in your body, Zafir.” Warmth pooled below her skin at her own words. “Six years of sexual drought and it took you three days. You made me feel as if I was the most attractive woman in the world. As if I was the only one to have shredded that tight control of yours. Hell of a trick that,” she said, aware of how powerless her attraction to him always left her.

“It was not a trick. Whatever you felt, multiply it by ten times and you’ll understand how I felt.”

The divan shifted as Zafir’s weight sank into it and every cell in her froze.

Golden eyes stared back at her. His elbows on his legs, he was leaning forward.

“So are you going to want help with night feedings and such when the baby comes? Is there a class we should be attending together to learn about these things?”

It was the cruelest thing he could have asked her. Like a mirage in the desert that could tempt and warp one’s sense of reality. That promised to quench your unbearable thirst when there was not a drop.

He had no right to ask such things of her when they were anything but a married couple absolutely in love with each other.

Donning a smile that threatened to crack her face with its brittleness, she went for playfulness. No way would she ever betray how dismayed she felt. “There’s going to be an army of maids and nannies at my command, right?” Her neck hurt at how stiffly she held herself.

She took his silence as a yes.

“Then you’ll be excused. I’m sure you’ll be super busy with state affairs to…” She shrugged the rest of her answer away.

The tent reverberated with something unsaid, yet Lauren didn’t know what. Unless it was her brittle smile cracking into pieces.