Banished to the Harem Page 6

  ‘And the women in the harem …?’

  ‘They are for me, not I for them.’ He lowered his head and replaced his fingers with his mouth. ‘There is none of this.’

  And he parted her legs and gave in to himself. He would miss this. This was why he loved this land. When he went back this sweet pleasure would be only for his bride. He tasted and it felt like the last time. He probed with his tongue and felt her hands in his head and it was the last time, Rakhal realised, for his wife would not be so bold as to demand more from him, and nor would she weep and beg as Natasha did now.

  All the tensions of the day were throbbed out into his mouth.

  And afterward, she lay trying to remember how to breathe. The stars were still watching and so too were his eyes—and, no, she did not want to wait for morning.

  She drank water from the carafe by the bed and could not fathom that it came from the desert. She poured some more and Rakhal drank it. She tried to rest and he tried to let her. Yet it was as though the night would not let them wait for morning; it was as though the stars had other plans for them and were willing them on.

  His kiss on her shoulder made her tremble in anticipation. She could stay like this for ever, Natasha decided, as one hand played with her bottom. Still he kissed her, and then his other hand massaged her nipple. He kissed her with words while his hands were moving, stroking, assuring, telling her what she needed to hear. How, since the moment he had seen her at the police station, she had been on his mind—which, Rakhal thought, was true. How, since the moment he had met her, he had wanted her—which again, he conceded, was true.

  And he said many more things—for here in this strange country, where women made simple things complicated, where they demanded declarations and promises that could never be kept, he played by the rules, gave in to the madness of the land just one more time and said things he perhaps ought not to—like how much he wanted her. Except that, too, was true.

  He told her how aroused he was as she burned beneath him. He moved his tongue along her shoulders and then down to suckle at her breast, and he kissed her nipple longer, until the taste was imprinted on his tongue.

  His skin was smooth and soft, his erection both compelling and terrifying—for she knew now that they would make love.

  His fingers concluded that she was ready.

  ‘Will it hurt?’

  ‘A little,’ Rakhal said as he sheathed himself.

  He was over her, his erection nudging at her entrance, and he felt her tension, felt her tight and nervous. He moved his fingers down to where she was now dry.

  ‘We don’t have to …’ he whispered.

  ‘I want to,’ she said, but she was honest. ‘I’m scared.’

  ‘You guide me …’ he said.

  And then her hand was around him, and he was so solid it terrified her more. The sheath came away in her hand.

  ‘I will put on another …’ He did not show his impatience, knew it would not help, but Rakhal was not used to anything less than seamless lovemaking. He knew that if he interrupted things now the moment would be gone. It was for that reason—that foolish, foolish reason—that he stayed.

  ‘Just relax,’ he said, for he could feel the wanting in her body at odds with the dry desert between her legs. But now, without the barrier, she had softened a little. He could feel her moist at his tip and he kissed her calmer, perhaps just a little wilder. ‘Better?’ he asked.

  ‘Much.’ For her panic was easing and lust was trickling back. ‘I’m sorry …’ She was—and embarrassed too at her cumbersomeness.

  ‘Natasha …’ She had nothing to be sorry about. He would stretch her just a little, Rakhal decided, while she was damp and more moist. ‘Just a little way,’ he whispered. She moaned as he stretched her, for it hurt and yet it was sublime.

  He pushed and felt only physical resistance. Her mind was with his now. Gently he moved, backwards and forwards, until she begged him to enter—and he did, tearing her virgin flesh. She bit into his shoulder and he thought then he might come, was dizzy from fighting it, but of course he must not. Rakhal knew that, for he was still unsheathed.

  He would come out now, he decided. Except he slid deeper inwards.

  She sobbed, for, yes, it hurt. It hurt because it was almost cruel to have a man as well endowed as Rakhal as your first lover. But it was a delicious cruel, Natasha soon realised, as her body adjusted to him.

  ‘Just a little way more,’ Rakhal said, and he thought he might die from the pleasure as he felt the beckoning of her muscles dragging him in. ‘Stay still,’ he warned, for the soft buck of her body brought him dangerously close.

  She tried to, but she had never felt anything like it, to be so completely filled, and it killed not to move with him, not to move her hips to her body’s command. She gave in then, lifted her hips, and he moved out. And then as his tip neared the exit he plunged in again, for just one more taste.

  He would be careful, he told himself as he sank in deeper and then did it again.

  She could never have realised all she was missing out on. She felt his golden skin beneath her fingers, felt the animal passion that fought with his restraint, and the orgasm he had brought her to in the small hours was bypassed already. She could feel tension in her thighs, and low, low in her stomach, and she felt as if she might scream.

  ‘Rakhal,’ she warned, for she was so close to the edge.

  ‘Let go,’ he said, for he wanted to feel her come around his naked length.

  Rakhal would not leave her in London; he wanted her in his land—she would be in his harem. He was giddy with the thought that he might have her again and again.

  Natasha was giddy too. Her hips rose to his and their groins ground together; he was bucking within her, and her muscles were milking him, and Natasha found ecstasy there in his arms.

  Always he loved the release, but as he came to her it was like nothing he had ever sampled before—he saw the stars in his head, the same stars that bathed the desert and shone on them tonight; he swept past Orion and pulsed deep into her.

  And then he returned, back from the desert to his hotel room and to cold realisation.

  He had done the unthinkable …

  CHAPTER SIX

  NATASHA lay trying to make sense of things.

  There was no excuse save insanity, which was what she felt around him. She was usually the most sensible person—reserved, some might say.

  Just not with Rakhal.

  His kisses, his touch, his words had taken her to places where rational thought was left behind. After a moment he spoke.

  ‘Natasha … what happened there …’ He actually didn’t know how to broach it, for this was not a conversation he had had before. This sort of thing simply did not, could not happen to him.

  ‘Shouldn’t have,’ she finished for him. ‘We didn’t use anything …’

  ‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘The mistake was mine.’

  She turned and looked at him, saw the grim set of his jaw, knew what he must surely be thinking: she had trapped him somehow. Her mind whirred for possible solutions and she breathed in relief as one flew in.

  ‘There’s a pill …’ Those indigo eyes turned to her, but they were black and unreadable now. She babbled on some more, in an effort not just to reassure him but herself, as if talking could somehow erase the madness that had taken place in this bed.

  He looked in silent horror at the woman he had just made love to. He accepted all responsibility for what had happened. She had been a virgin; he was a royal. He should have known better—he always knew better. Till now.

  Rakhal had been raised as a leader in crisis. He must always remain calm. It had been ingrained into him, beaten into him at times, and he was grateful for those teachings now. He knew that she did not understand the implications, but Natasha’s talk of a pill that could end things had adrenaline coursing through his muscles and his heart thumping in alarm.

  He knew this had not been an attempt to trap him. The
re was a strength to her, a dignity that suddenly unnerved him. This was a woman independent enough to go it alone. She might not even tell him about a baby—perhaps with curls of gold and its father’s dark skin—and if he left now he might not even know.

  Still, he did not reveal his horror. His voice was pleasant and calm when it came. ‘There is time yet before you need to worry about such things.’ He pulled her into his arms. ‘I told you—you are to worry about nothing.’

  She lay there soothed as his hand stroked her, as he told her that everything would be okay. She slept, but it was not restful, for whenever she turned or moved it was as if he were awake and his arms found her again.

  At dawn she listened as the stranger who had become her lover moved to another room and chanted prayers she did not understand. And she said prayers of her own too, asking for forgiveness for her foolish mistake. It was a simple mistake. Of course they would get away with it … She heard him shower, then she heard him speaking on the phone, but it was in his own language so she didn’t know what was being said.

  Rakhal did not like what he heard.

  Her brother was back and raging, demanding the jewels, demanding she call the police. Rakhal could not let her go back to that house. He issued instructions and did not repeat them. He only needed to say things once.

  He returned, dressed in a bathrobe and unshaven. The bruise on his eye was more grey than purple now. He was still so impossibly beautiful as he sat on the edge of the bed and looked down to where she lay.

  ‘Look … about what happened …’ She wanted to discuss it properly—she wasn’t actually sure that she could take a pill. She wanted to know what he was thinking. But Rakhal had other ideas.

  ‘There is no point worrying about that now,’ Rakhal said. ‘Whatever happens we will sort something out. Get dressed.’ He smiled down at her. ‘I want to take your mind off things. I will take you to breakfast. Somewhere nice.’

  ‘I haven’t got anything suitable to wear. We could have breakfast here.’

  ‘We could,’ Rakhal said. And he pulled back the sheet and went to climb in. Then he changed his mind, smiling down at her, naked and warm.

  She wriggled in delight as he traced his fingers down her hips and then paused, his eyes tenderly appraising her. ‘Why don’t we have breakfast somewhere a bit special?’ He spoke the language of romance, the language women here seemed so badly to need, and he spoke it easily for he had had much practice. ‘Paris!’

  ‘Don’t be …’ Her voice trailed off, because this was his life, this was his world, and still she could not fathom it. ‘I haven’t got anything to wear … my passport …’ It was all too impossible. ‘We can’t just …’

  ‘Why not?’ Rakhal said. ‘I have a jet. We could be there in a couple of hours. Or lunch, maybe … I will have some clothes brought up for you …’ He made the impossible so easy. ‘I will send someone to get your documents, and I will have my people tidy your house. I don’t want you being distressed …’

  She thought of her house, the mess and the chaos she would have to return to, and she wanted the reprieve before she went back to her life, wanted the escape. Always around him she forgot to be sensible, and Natasha nodded her head. Yes.

  She chose clothes from a selection from one of the hotel boutiques which Rakhal had had brought up to his suite. She chose a dress in the palest grey with a matching long coat. The hotel organised someone to do her hair and make-up too. It was the height of decadence.

  The luxury of it all should have been making her giddy, but it was Rakhal who took care of that. The approval in his eyes as she came out of her bedroom and the kiss to her throat before they headed to the airport was a brief reminder of what had taken place last night. And it was not clothes or make-up she wanted. She would have happily stripped bare there and then—except Rakhal had other plans.

  Plans which had swung into action. From car to plane it was seamless—for Natasha at least. There was not a hint from the staff who greeted them as to the chaos this rapid change in the Prince’s plans had caused.

  ‘Your Highness.’ The robed man who had been in the car the morning she had first met him was there as they climbed on board. He bowed and kissed Rakhal’s hand, and nodded his head to Natasha, then disappeared into an area towards the front of the plane.

  ‘It’s amazing!’ It really was; there was a desk and large leather chairs, a bar and even a bed—it was beyond luxurious even for a hotel room, but the fact it was a plane had Natasha reeling. ‘You have a desk?’

  ‘I fly a lot,’ Rakhal explained. ‘And often I am working …’ He gave her a smile. ‘But not today. We should take our seats—we will be taking off soon.’

  He held her hand as they taxied along the runway and took off into the morning. They would be in Paris within an hour, the captain explained once the plane had levelled out.

  ‘I should get changed,’ Rakhal said, and looked up as the steward came to take their order for breakfast. ‘Just juice and pastries,’ Rakhal said. ‘We will be dining when we land.’ He looked to his guest, supremely polite. ‘If that is okay with you?’

  ‘Of course.’ She looked around the jet and he saw her eyes linger on the bed.

  ‘Why not stretch out a little?’ Rakhal suggested.

  She would never have the chance to sample such luxury again, Natasha realised as Rakhal headed to the bathroom. And it was luxury to lie on the bed, to close her eyes and rest on soft pillows as the plane took her away.

  It felt as if she had been sleeping for ever and the plane seemed darker when she awoke. The shutters were down. She stretched luxuriously, a little surprised when she looked over and saw Rakhal on his computer at the desk, speaking with Abdul his aide. He was not dressed in the suit she was used to. Instead he had changed into robes and had a kafiya on his head. Natasha’s first thought was—to her shame—that she would be a little bit embarrassed walking around Paris with him dressed like that, for he looked so royal, so imposing. But even before that thought had been fully processed, even before Rakhal turned around, the truth of her situation was slowly dawning.

  ‘How long till we land?’ Still she tried to deny the obvious—because things like this surely couldn’t happen to someone like her.

  ‘A couple of hours,’ Rakhal said, and Natasha noted that he didn’t even attempt to lie.

  ‘And how long have I been asleep?’

  ‘For a while.’

  She tried to keep calm, but fear was coursing through her, and it was blind panic that had her racing from the bed to confront him where he sat.

  ‘You can’t do this.’ She attempted to reason with him. ‘You can’t just take me!’

  ‘You left me with no choice but to do so.’ Rakhal was completely unmoved by her dramatics. She was starting to shout now, to beat him with her hands. He captured her wrists. ‘This is about protecting what is mine.’

  ‘I’m not yours to protect …’

  ‘That is yet to be determined.’

  And Natasha knew then it was not about her.

  ‘With all that was going on, with the things you were suggesting, I could not leave you.’ To him it was logical. ‘If you are pregnant with my child then I need to be certain you are taking care of yourself and that you will do nothing to jeopardise its existence. You will stay in the palace, where you’ll be well looked after by women who will take the best care of you.’

  ‘Where will you be?’

  ‘In the desert. Soon I am to take a wife. It is right that I go there for contemplation and meditation. We will wait to see the outcome with you. You will be well taken care of, you will be looked after, and, if you are not pregnant of course you can come back home.’

  She could feel hysteria rising—wanted to slap him, wanted to run for the emergency exit. But still he held her wrists. There was nothing but nothing she could do.

  ‘And if I am?’ Natasha begged, but she already knew the answer.

  ‘If you are pregnant—’ so matter-of-fact w
as his voice as he said it ‘—then there is no question that we will marry.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IT WAS dark as they came in to land.

  She could see the palace rising out of the desert, and it was the most terrifying feeling as the plane touched down in a country she hadn’t even heard of till yesterday.

  They had flown for hours, and when the fight in her had died Natasha had sat in a chair and stared silently out of the window. For a while she had thought they were flying over the ocean. She’d thought she could see white rippling waves. But she had come to realise that the near-full moon lit a desert beneath them. It had shown her all too clearly the remoteness of the land Rakhal would one day rule—the land he was taking her to now.

  An assistant helped her into a robe that covered her from head to toe, only revealing her eyes, and once off the plane they were driven a short distance to the palace, which stood tall and exquisite, though it felt far from welcoming as she stepped out of the car. Natasha knew it would be hopeless to fight here—there was no point kicking and screaming. Even if she could get away there was nowhere to run; all she could do was stay calm and appear to have given in to him.

  He was unfamiliar in his robes, dark, mysterious and forbidding, and she cursed again at her foolishness, rued the trust she had placed in him. Rakhal was flanked by several men who spoke in low voices, while Natasha was surrounded by a group of women. They walked swiftly through fragrant gardens, and only when they were safely inside the palace did Rakhal speak with her again.

  ‘You will take refreshments with the maidens—my father has asked that I speak with him.’

  For the first time she witnessed tension in his features, but his voice was as haughty and assured as ever. As he turned to go, perhaps he saw her fear, for he tried to comfort her.

  ‘Natasha, I understand you are scared, that this must be overwhelming for you, but please know that I would never hurt you.’

  ‘You already have,’ she flared. ‘Lies hurt too, Rakhal. You lied to get me on that plane—you didn’t make a single attempt to speak to me, to discuss what we should do.’