Married for the Sheikh's Duty(27)
He couldn’t be too forward, too westernized in his thoughts, nor could he let Khaleej live in the past. Progress and tradition had to be carefully weighed in every step he took in the name of the state. She wished she didn’t; she wished she could see him as a ruthless statesman, as a playboy and not as a man sometimes caught between past and future, between his own dreams and his country’s needs.
Because the more she saw that, the more Amalia felt as if she belonged by his side. Instead of wanting to run away from the challenges she would face, she felt energized by them; she felt as if this was what she was supposed to do.
To love this honorable man and be his mate in everything. To embrace her culture and her roots finally because Zayn embodied the best parts of it.
Except he was like an island, believing that his duty had to be carried out without an ounce of happiness in his own life.
Didn’t he need someone who would walk that delicate balance with him, someone with whom he need not be the all-powerful sheikh and just Zayn, a man with vulnerabilities?
But she lacked the defiant courage to say that to him, to put her own deep feelings into words. She’d shared the most intimate moments of her life with him, but to open her heart to him, fear and pain at the prospect of his rejection rippled through her.
A wicked smile curved his mouth. “Now you know my darkest secret, habibti. Maybe I should make you a lifelong prisoner so that you do not tell the world what Sheikh Zayn Al-Ghamdi is beneath what they see.”
Amalia had never been so glad for being interrupted by Mirah at that minute. If Zayn had looked into her eyes, he would’ve known how much she wanted to be part of his life, even when it was an upward battle for her pretty much on every front.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”
Only after the question reverberated in the bedroom did Zayn realize how accusatory and childish he sounded. No, not just sounded. That was how he felt.
As if he was being pulled in polarizing directions, being split in between. As though he was being told again and again by a relentless voice that his life was different, that his life was not ordinary.
“Love is a weakness for other people, a fantasy, an indulgence we cannot afford, Zayn.”
His father’s derisive words were like little worms inside his head, and he took a deep breath trying to banish the turmoil he felt inside.
It was impossible that this turmoil, this constant confusion, could be love. He didn’t even know what love was, truly. He didn’t know how deep and abiding a connection could be between a man and a woman.
All he knew was he still hadn’t quite driven out the attraction, the lust he felt for Amalia. Given that she was the first woman who had integrated into aspects of his life that had never even known a woman, it followed that he felt a connection with her.
A connection he was not prepared to sever just yet.
“I asked you something, Amalia.”
Her hands stilled on the bag she was packing, but she didn’t turn around instantly. He hated when she did that, when she hid her reaction from him, when she pulled some facade together so that he couldn’t even guess what was going on in her mind.
In five days of the most lavish celebrations and ceremonies around Mirah’s wedding, all he had seen was what the rest of the world saw.
Amalia Noor Hadid Christensen, as the Khaleej media had taken to calling her once her roots and her background had been discovered. Poised, stylish, the perfect ornament on the sheikh’s arm, with a ready smile for the guests or the media. As Mirah’s wedding day neared, it was as if the light had gone out from her eyes. She had retreated so far behind her mask that even Zayn began to long for her impertinent remarks and her blunt honesty.
The rip of the zipper on her bag hurtled him out of his brooding thoughts.
She finally turned around, her gaze implacable. “Mirah is having a kind of girls’ night with her friends in her wing tonight. As she is leaving with her husband tomorrow.” She darted from her bedroom to the open area near the pool and he prowled after her. The charge that was never far behind between them built up, even more electrifying for she was leading him on a chase.
Something savage and atavistic filled Zayn for they both knew how this was going to end, how tonight was going to play out. His pulse raced, his muscles tightening already.
“She invited me over and I thought I would make a night out of it.”
“Do you have to pack all your things for one night?” he asked again, walking around the pool, following her, just as she picked up a paperback from one of the alcoves.
He closed his mind and instantly, the image of her spread out on the low divan with a book in her hand flashed. Always, he realized that image would haunt him now.
With a frown, he looked around the house he had poured all his dreams into. Every nook and cranny was now touched with memories of Amalia.
He reached her at the entrance of his own bedroom and blocked her exit. A nightgown and her iPad were in her hands this time. He had hid the iPad two nights ago when she wouldn’t give him the attention he wanted.
She had squealed and tried to get away, and he had tackled her until they had both fallen to the rug in a heap. And then he had covered her body with his, desperate to possess her. The same insistent desire filled him now, blinding him to everything else.
The freedom he found with her, the ecstasy when he sank deep into her...it was a drug he would forever crave.
“I thought it a good idea to pick up my stuff. Six weeks is a long time and I have strewn small things around everywhere.”
When she turned to step out, he blocked the entrance. Skin flushed, mouth trembling, she would not even meet his gaze. “Zayn—”
One arm stretched out to stop her, he leaned against the other side. “I did not think I would see the day when you would be so intimidated by me that you would not even meet my gaze, Amalia.”
Shoulders went back; she glared at him. “I hope that day never comes.”
His hands found her shoulders, automatically tipping her body toward his. “You’ve been avoiding me for the past few days. Actually, since that morning breakfast.”
She didn’t shy her gaze this time, but conveniently hid it in his chest. His heart rumbled against her cheek, a reaction he was used to now. “There were a lot of places I needed to be. Mirah was counting on me.”
“And today?” he asked. When she would have danced away from him, he snaked both arms around her. Shaping the curve of her bottom, he pulled her flush against him. He couldn’t stop touching her, couldn’t stop the passion from flaring between them at a moment’s notice. “Would you rather spend it with Mirah or her brother?”
* * *
Amalia knew she should say Mirah or a hundred other destinations that didn’t have the man. But she was weak, irrevocably in love with him, hungry for every second she could spend with him. In his arms. Her flesh was trembling and weak after avoiding him for four days.
A gloriously savage smile curving his lips, he kissed her possessively, instantly filling her with wanton heat. One touch of those gorgeous lips was enough to ready her for his possession, enough to make her cling to him with a keening groan.
She clung to him and pressed her lips to his neck when he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the pool area. A soft gasp left her as the raw beauty of the house overwhelmed her again.
A sky dotted with silver jewel-like stars reflected in the pool below, making the surface of water ripple and glitter like a jewel itself. Moroccan lanterns around the pool provided just enough light for them to see their way. The smell of rose incense drifted from somewhere, filling the air with the voluptuous tendrils of it.
She had never imagined herself in a place such as this, true. But it was the man who had her breath fluttering in and out of her throat, her limbs liquid and aching.
Barely out of breath, he carried them to an alcove that gave the best view of the sky and the pool.
When he slid her to her feet and reached for the zipper of her dress, Amalia stayed his hand. “The staff...”
“Did you not realize that no one is allowed here, especially during the night, habibti?” His low whisper strummed at her nerves. Fingers danced over the skin he bared, pressing and stroking. “I did not want anyone to hear the sounds you make when you come. I could not take the chance that one of them could walk by and see your silky skin, or those pouty breasts, or the way you drape those legs around me when you sleep.
“You are mine, Amalia. Something savage awakens in me when I think of any other man even looking at your beautiful body or hearing those little whimpers you make.”
Her mouth dry, Amalia stood awash in the sensations that pummeled her.
She was his. She wanted to be his in every waking moment, not just in the dark intimacy of the night.
But before she could even form the words, he rid her of her fitted sheath dress and her strapless bra, leaving her in her bikini panties. The cold breeze kissed her nudity and she shivered. Only when his own skin, heated and like rough velvet touched her, did Amalia realize that he had already shed his clothes, too.
Slowly, pockets of heat began to emerge on her cold skin, until in mere seconds, she was burning with need.
Turning her around so that she could see their outlines in the pool, he pressed his mouth into her shoulder. Rough bristles scraped against the sensitive skin. Amalia would have melted to the tiles on the floor if he wasn’t holding her up.