The Sheikh's Prize(10)

'I refuse to do so and you can't sleep on the floor.'

'I can do whatever I want to do,' Saffy told him, rolling herself into   the spread and lying down beside the bed as well wrapped up as an Arctic   explorer.

'Except when I'm around,' Zahir pronounced in direct challenge,   snatching her up from the floor and planting her back on the divan with   the strength that came so naturally to him.

'I'm not sharing that bed with you!' Saffy spat at him.

Zahir dealt her a derisive appraisal. 'Even when you already know that   you can certainly trust me to hear the word no?' he queried in a very   dry reminder.

Hot pink colour washed her lovely face and then receded to leave her   pale and stricken. She was crushed by all that went unsaid within that   aide-memoire, but equally suddenly she felt foolish making such a fuss   about sharing a bed, and she squirmed out of the cloaking folds of the   spread to slide below the sheet. 'This is all your fault-you should   never have brought me here!'

Zahir almost laughed. She was shouting at him again, fighting with him,   and he should have been furious at her lack of respect but he wasn't;  he  was too busy enjoying the novelty of being treated like an equal by a   woman. Sapphire wouldn't bat her eyelashes at him, look down in   submission and offer honeyed words of feminine flattery as the other   women he met did. He climbed into the bed and lay back against the   pillows. With Sapphire's mane of hair tossed all over the pillow beside   his, the smell of the shampoo she used wafted into his nostrils, a   familiar floral scent she had worn ever since he had known her, and that   evocative aroma awakened too much that he would have preferred to   forget. Slowly his lean brown hands clenched into fists, the tension in   his lean powerful body extreme.

'Well, isn't this cosy?' Saffy mocked, determined not to show weakness again.

'Don't rock the boat...' Zahir purred softly in warning.

'Your English has improved so much,' Saffy remarked acidly, staring up   at the boarded ceiling. 'Was that a by-product of your promiscuity with   various Western women or did you actually have to study the language?'

His even white teeth gritted. The novelty of her backchat was fast   dimming in appeal and he sat up to stare down at her. 'I was not   promiscuous...'

Saffy stared stonily back at the lean bronzed beauty of his arresting face. 'None of my business.'

Eyes as dark a black and cold as she had ever seen them, he swivelled   away from her and turned on his side and she caught a glimpse of his   back, and anything else provocative that she might have said was   forgotten instantly. Without thought she thrust down the sheet to get a   better look. The once-brown silken sweep of his smooth, muscular back   was marred with slashed and intersecting lines of scars. Before she   could think better of it, she exclaimed, 'What on earth happened to your   back?'                       
       
           



       

In an abrupt movement, Zahir flipped round to lie flat on his back again   while colour crawled across his slashing cheekbones because he had   forgotten to keep his shirt on. 'Not something I want to talk about.'

'But it looks like you were beaten...whipped!' Saffy burst out, unable   to stifle her horror at the thought of anyone deliberately inflicting   that amount of pain on him. His back must have been shredded to leave   scars that deep and extensive.

In the nerve-racking silence, which only Zahir was capable of using like   a weapon he switched out the light. She could recall so many times  when  he had shut her out like that five years earlier, keeping his own   counsel, refusing to share his thoughts or even the details of what he   did or where he went when he was away from her. He wasn't the confiding   type, never had been, was very much made in the iron image of an army   officer with the proverbial stiff upper lip. She compressed her lips on   the questions tumbling on her tongue. Had he been caught, imprisoned  and  mistreated during the rebellion that had brought his father down?  But  surely his status as his father's heir should have protected him on   either side of the fence?

Bewildered, even wondering why she should be so curious, Saffy closed   her eyes and instead pictured him lounging in his boxers by the door and   finally she smiled faintly in the darkness, the more disturbing images   banished. He might have acquired a few scars but he was still a vision   of bronzed masculine perfection, still her fantasy male from his  perfect  pecs to his six-pack abdomen and powerful hair-roughened  thighs. He  would either be highly amused or highly offended to learn  that she  pictured him when she tried to look sexy in a pose.





CHAPTER FOUR



SAFFY WOKE UP because she was too warm and then went rigid, for at some   stage of the night she and Zahir had drifted across the great divide of   mattress separating them in the huge bed and it was hardly surprising   that she had overheated. Their bodies were welded together like two   magnets and, compared to her, he put out the most extraordinary amount   of heat. Even more disturbing, however, was the hard male arousal she   could feel thrusting against her thigh.

He was always in that state in the morning: she had realised that while   she was married to him. But the flush of awareness that shimmered   through her was shockingly new, fresh and intensely energising and she   shivered. Her fingers flexed against the male bicep they were resting   on, colour flashing across her embarrassed face as a hunger to touch him   flared deep inside her. It was a supreme irony that in the past, while   she couldn't bear him to touch her, she had loved to touch him.

Black lashes dark as midnight and effective as silk fans swept up and   she collided with stunning golden eyes and knew instantly what he was   thinking. She yanked her hand off his strong muscular bicep and snaked   back from him but she wasn't quick enough, for Zahir had closed long   brown fingers into her hair to entrap her.

'Right at this minute,' he positively purred like a very large predatory jungle cat on the prowl, 'I'm all yours.'

'I don't know what you're talking about!' she said in desperation, a spasm of panic claiming her.

'Want me to tell you what you're thinking about?' Zahir husked. 'Or will I just tell you what I'm thinking about?'

'Let me go!' she gasped.

He freed her hair and rolled back.

Low in her pelvis something clenched almost painfully while her nipp**les tingled into throbbing beads.

'You want me to take care of this myself?' He gestured towards where his   erection was evident beneath the sheet, shameless in his enjoyment of   her most mortifying yet moment of recollection as if he had somehow   worked out exactly what was on her mind.

No, she wanted to flatten him to the bed, kiss her way down the roped   muscles of his stomach and... With a stifled sound of distress, Saffy   leapt off the bed as though she had been bitten and fled from the room   to the bathroom. He had kidnapped her, deprived her of her freedom and   she had been lying there in that bed tempted to reach for him, touch   him, caress him with her mouth, watch him reach a climax with pride and   satisfaction, the only satisfaction she had ever known in the bedroom,   an entirely one-sided stunted thing born of her inability to engage in   intercourse.

He was cruel; no, he was gorgeous. She couldn't make her mind up to the   extent that in the grip of that struggle she felt semi-insane and,   refusing to think, she took care of her more pressing needs instead. A   knock sounded on the door when she had finished brushing her teeth with   the brand new battery-powered toothbrush set out for her use. After a   moment's hesitation, she yanked the door open. Sheathed in jeans and   nothing else, Zahir handed her a pile of clothing.                       
       
           



       

'I was joking.'

'No, you weren't,' Saffy snapped.

Zahir lifted and dropped his lean brown hands and sudden amusement   slashed his full sensual mouth. 'Well, I wouldn't have said no...first   and foremost, I'm a man and I have some very hot memories of you.'

'H-hot?' Saffy stammered helplessly, taken aback by the word, certain he must have misused it.

Zahir stared at her, taking in the tousled golden hair hanging like a   veil round her slim shoulders, the brighter than bright blue eyes, and   acknowledged that the embarrassment her entire stance telegraphed was   not at all what he had expected from her. She wasn't an innocent any   more, so why was she blushing?