The Sheikh's Stolen Bride(14)

Long-held fears were slicing through her. The boat was enormous though – more like a floating mansion.

“Fine. Let’s go.” She looked up at him with nothing but courage in her beautiful eyes.

He wanted to kiss her then, too. It was becoming a more and more frequently occurring impulse.

There were steps that led to the boat and it wasn’t rocking at all. Still, Charlotte gripped the handrail tightly as she moved upwards, onto the deck. Ashad signalled the captain the second she stepped on-deck, not wanting to give her a moment to change her mind.

The engine began to purr beneath them, making the deck reverberate. Charlotte was stricken and he put a hand in the small of her back, guiding her towards an area that had a high railing.

“Hold on, azeezi.”

“Why do you call me that?” She asked, her body stiff.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“You know why,” she said quietly.

He sighed. “Hold on.” The boat was enormous but the driver was skilled. He negotiated it out of the dock with apparent ease, then turned it towards the open sea.

“Where are we going?”

“Not far.”

They stood in silence as the boat passed many other yachts of incredible design and proportion before it broke free of the marina and burst out of the sheltered area, into the sea. Waves hit the sides but could barely be felt from where they were.

It crested through the ocean, the morning sun bright against them as it cut through the water, finding its own path far from the shores of Falina before turning to run parallel with the coast line.

It went at speed, taking them past familiar landmarks.

After almost twenty minutes, Charlotte turned to face him. “I’m not afraid.”

He laughed. “Remember that, too.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“I’ll show you why. Come with me.” He took her hand now and she didn’t even think of pulling away. They were alone. Well, apart from his staff, whom she presumed could be trusted. She followed behind him, hoping for more than just a simple hand contact. The realisation shamed her, yet she didn’t stop.

At the edge of the deck there were white stairs. He stood aside, allowing her to go down them first.

“Third door on the right,” Ashad called from behind her. Charlotte moved down the wide, elegant corridor, catching glimpses of a lounge area, a dining room, and a cinema before entering the room he’d said.

It was a bedroom.

Holy crap.

A bedroom with an enormous bed, the latest word in designer styling, and portal windows that showed the bobbing ocean beyond them.

“Ashad,” she pulled at her hand now, not about to throw every caution to the wind.

“I have something for you,” he murmured, and confusion drew her brows together.

“What?”

He stowed the Tiffany bag beside the bed and lifted another. La Perla, it said. He handed it over and, curious, Charlotte peeked inside. Whatever it was was wrapped in tissue paper but she knew exactly what La Perla made.

“I don’t think I should look at this.”

“It’s not what you think,” he promised.

Charlotte reached inside and pulled out the tissue paper, unfolding it cautiously, as though it might be a snake about to bite her. Her fingers glided over the unmistakable sensation of lycra and now she moved faster, ripping the bag in her eagerness to see what was within.

A perfectly plain swimsuit, navy blue with white trim, one piece with boy leg. And in her size, too. She stared at it long and hard and then tossed it on the bed.

Because actually, of course, nothing about a swimsuit could be perfectly plain to Charlotte.

“You’d better not be suggesting I put that on.”

“Not only am I suggesting that, I’m going to see to it that you get it very, very wet.”

Her cheeks flushed and her pulse spiked at what had to have been an intentional double entendre.

“Ashad …”

“Do you trust me?”

Her heart flipped over in her chest but she nodded slowly, her eyes huge in her face. “I think I do.”

“Then let me share this with you.” He reached for her now, as though he could no longer help himself. His hand on her cheek was as gentle as a whisper. She pressed her face into it but he was gone again, moving away from her.

“Shall I wait outside?” A gravelled question that made her quiver. What would he do if she told him to stay?

“Uh huh,” she whispered, moving away from him.

He strode from the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

It took no time to change into the swimsuit and adrenalin was moving her fingers, making them dance. She studied her appearance in the mirror, then lifted her hair into a bun high on her head. She secured it with two pins she had in her handbag and then looked around, bemused. She wasn’t going to go above deck in just a bathing costume. She reached for her kaftan and pulled it over the top, the light-weight fabric the perfect complement to the bathers.

But she wasn’t really going to swim, was she?

Ashad was waiting, as promised, just beyond the door to the bedroom. He’d changed too.

She hadn’t expected that.

Ashad was wearing only a pair of dark black board shorts. They fell to just above his knees; there was nothing revealing about them, per se, except for his torso. His muscled, defined, tanned chest with a ridged wall of abdominals and a sprinkling of coarse dark hair that went all the way to the waistband of his shorts, was at her eye level.

“Ready?” He asked.

“I don’t think so,” she smiled up at him weakly.

He laughed, though, and she laughed with him, caught up in the spontaneity and madness of what they were doing. He leaned forward, peering through a window that was visible in the lounge. “We are almost there. Come.”

“Where are we going?”

A grin tossed carelessly over his shoulder was the only answer.

She followed behind him, curiosity overriding fear as they moved back onto the deck. The boat was still travelling quickly, though it had pulled back a little, humming more quietly now as it navigating its way into a sheltered cove.

“What is this?”

“A private beach.”

She nodded. This section of the coast line was broken up by several coves, and many of them had been bought out by billionaire’s decades earlier. It was something her father frowned upon; he believed the beauty of the country should be available for all to enjoy.

“Are you ready?”

She blinked at him. “No, I can’t do this.”

His expression was sombre. “You’re overthinking it.”

“Yeah. Because I can still remember what it felt like to have water filling me up from the inside out.”

He grabbed her hand and tugged her behind him, moving to the edge of the boat. A ladder dangled over the side.

“All you have to do is climb down,” he murmured. “Can you imagine how nice the water feels? So cool on this hot morning?”

She bit down on her lip, shaking her head. “It’s not as simple as that. I’m really afraid …”

He squeezed her hand, and sensation radiated up her arm, warming her heart. “Follow me. Trust me.”

She nodded, but doubts were arrowing through her.

He released his touch so that he could scale the ladder, easing himself down with natural strength. She watched him and, at the bottom, he pushed out from the boat with a confident, relaxed stride. He seemed to tear through the water as though it cost him no effort.

She watched in awe, and envy zipped inside her. How she would love to move like that. Her body was honed and fit; she pushed it to its limits in other ways. But swimming …?

“Come on,” he called up, motioning at her to follow.

“I don’t think I can.”

“I promise I won’t let go.”

Her heart banged hard. He wouldn’t? So far as inducement went, it was exceptional. She put a foot on the first rung of the ladder, and then the next, but belatedly recalled she was still wearing her kaftan. She pulled at it, lifting it over her head by releasing only one hand at a time from the railing. She tossed it onto the deck and then continued moving down the ladder, until her toe touched the water and she jerked to a halt.

But his hands were there, curling around her ankles, stroking her flesh, encouraging her. They were lighting fires where the water had driven an arctic fear deep in her heart.

She took another step, and another, until her knees were in the water, and finally, all of her legs. Her fingers gripped the ladder like a lifeline. Which, she supposed, it was.

He was right behind her. She could feel his breath on her shoulder.

“Let go,” he murmured, so close that she knew if she turned around their lips would mesh. “I’ve got you.”

And, true to his word, his hands came around her waist, holding her tight. He was so strong. So capable. She peeled one hand off the ladder, and then, against her mind’s wishes, the other. Floating in the water, being guided by him, she was processing the shock of the sensations. He shifted a little, bringing himself to face her. His eyes scanned hers, reading them minutely, looking for details that she wasn’t sure she possessed.

“How do you feel,” he asked, kicking under water, keeping them afloat.

“Terrified,” she said honestly.

His hands stroked her back, slowly, deliciously, making her tremble with emotions that had nothing to do with her swimming phobia.

“Of what?”