Their Impossible Desert Match Read online

  A knock drew her from her reverie. She turned her attention to the door, wondering what she must look like—a quick glance in the mirror confirmed her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling. She pressed the backs of her hands to her cheeks, sucked in a breath and then opened the door.

  If she’d been hoping for Amir—and of course, on some level, she had been—she was to be disappointed. A guard stood there, his impressive military medals on one shoulder catching her eye. Medals that had been won in the service of his army—against her country. Another blip of frustration. The war was over now, but the hurts went deep on both sides. Did this soldier hate her because of who she was and where she came from? It was impossible to tell. His face was impassive as he held a piece of cream paper towards her, folded into quarters.

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, offering him a smile—perhaps enough smiles given genuinely and freely could turn hatred to acceptance, and eventually fondness.

  She waited until the door was clicked shut again, then unfolded the note.

  Come to the West Gate. A

  Owing to her dyslexia and his hastily scrawled handwriting, it took her several moments to read it and when she finished, her fingertips were unsteady, her breathing even more so. She flicked another glance to the mirror, running her hands across the simple outfit she wore—loose pants and a tunic—then over her hair, which was loose around her shoulders. She reached for some pins and secured it in a low bun, added a hint of lipstick and then moved to the door.

  Athena was coming in as Johara opened the door.

  ‘Your Highness? You’re going somewhere?’

  ‘I—For a walk,’ she said with a small nod.

  ‘Shall I accompany you?’

  ‘No.’ Johara’s smile was reassuring, when inside she was panicking. The company of her servant—even one she considered a friend, like Athena—was the last thing Johara wanted! ‘I’d like to be alone,’ she softened the rebuke, reaching out and touching Athena’s forearm. ‘Goodnight.’

  * * *

  The West Gate was not difficult to find. She had a vague recollection of it having been pointed out to her on her first day, when she’d been given a thorough tour of the palace. She retraced the steps she remembered, until she reached a wall of white marble that stretched almost impenetrably towards the sky, creating a strong barrier to the outside world. Halfway along the wall there was a gate made of gold and bronze, solid and beautiful, with ancient calligraphy inscribed in its centre.

  As she approached it she slowed, scanning for Amir. She couldn’t see him. But to the right of the enormous gates there was a doorway, made to blend in completely with the wall. It was ajar. She moved towards it, then pushed at it. Amir stood waiting for her.

  Her breath hitched in her throat. She’d come so quickly she hadn’t paused to consider what she might say to him when she arrived.

  Neither smiled.

  ‘Thank you for coming.’

  A frown quirked her brows. Had he thought she might not?

  ‘You mentioned that you wanted to see the ruins of wasat. They’re at their best at sunset.’

  It was then that she became aware of a magnificent stallion behind him. Beneath the saddle there was a blanket over its back, gold and black, and a roll of fabric hung to one side. She could only imagine it contained the sorts of necessities one might need when riding horses in this harsh climate—water, a satellite phone.

  ‘Are they—far from here?’

  ‘No.’ He gestured to the horse. ‘Ride with me.’

  It was a command. A shiver ran down her spine, and a whisper of anticipation. She eyed the horse, trying to remember the last time she’d been on the back of one—years. Many, many years. Her gaze flicked uncertainly to his.

  ‘It’s like riding a bike,’ he said, a smile lifting his lips now, a smile that sent little bubbles popping inside her belly.

  She walked towards the horse. It was magnificent. A shimmering black, it reminded her of a George Stubbs painting—all rippling muscles and intelligent eyes. She lifted a hand and ran it over his nose. The horse made a breathy noise of approval then dipped his head.

  Amir watched, transfixed.

  ‘He’s beautiful.’

  ‘He likes you,’ Amir murmured, moving closer, pressing his own hand to the horse’s mane, running his fingers over the coarse hair. ‘Let me help you up.’

  She was tempted to demur, but, looking at the sheer size of the horse, she knew it wouldn’t be wise. Or possible.

  ‘Thank you.’

  He came to her side, his eyes probing hers. ‘Ready?’

  She nodded wordlessly.

  He caught her around the waist easily, lifting her towards the horse so she could push one leg over and straddle it. Amir’s hands lingered on her hips a moment longer than was necessary and still she resented the necessity of their removal.

  A moment later, he’d pressed his foot into a stirrup and swung his leg over, nestling in behind her, reaching around and taking the reins, his body framing hers completely. She closed her eyes, praying for strength, because sitting this close to him was its own form of torment. She could smell him, feel him, his touch confident and reassuring as he moved his leg to start the horse in motion.

  ‘We’ll go fast,’ he said into her ear, the words warm against her flesh. Her heart turned over. She nodded, incapable of speaking.

  They sped. The horse galloped north, towards the Al’amanï ranges before tacking east. The sun was low in the sky, the colours spectacular as day blurred towards night. They rode for twenty minutes, each step of the horse jolting Johara against Amir, so after a while she surrendered to the sheer physicality of this, and allowed herself to enjoy it. The feeling of his chest against her back. His thighs against hers. His arms around her, flexing the reins. Every jolt bumped her against him and by the time he brought the horse to a stop, she was so overcome by the sensations that were flooding her body she barely realised they were at an ancient site.

  ‘These are the ruins,’ he said, his face forward, beside hers, so if she turned her head just a little her lips would press against his. She could hardly breathe. Her eyes traced the outlines of the ancient building, barely registering the details. She saw the pillars and columns, one of the ornate rooftops remained, the windows carved into arches. Yes, she could imagine this would have been a resting point in the desert, thousands of years earlier. A lodging as a midway point across the landscape. It was beautiful but she was so overwhelmed, it was impossible to react. A noise overhead caught her attention. She glanced up to see the enormous wingspan of a bird—his falcon. As she watched, it came down to land atop the ruins, its eyes surveying the desert.

  ‘They’re...’ She searched for the word and instinctively looked towards Amir. It was a mistake. Just as she’d imagined, he was so close, and in turning her head towards him she almost brushed his cheek with her lips. He shifted a little, so that he was facing her, their eyes only an inch apart. The air around them crackled with a heat that had nothing to do with the desert.

  ‘The ruins are...’

  She still couldn’t find the words. Every cell of her DNA was absorbed by this man. He was too close. Too much. He was...perfect. Superlatives were something she had in abundance, when it came to Amir. The ruins just couldn’t compete with him.

  ‘Would you like to see inside?’

  No. She wanted to stay right where she was. She bit down on her lip, sure what she was feeling must be obvious in her expression.

  ‘I—’ She frowned, her brows drawing together.

  ‘The view from the top is worth seeing.’

  Was he oblivious to the tension that was wrapping around her? Did he not feel it?

  She nodded slowly, awkwardly, but when he climbed down from the horse she had to tilt her face away from him because of the disappointment she was sure must show in her featu
res. He held his hands out. ‘May I?’

  He was asking to touch her, again. The small sign of respect came naturally to him.

  ‘Please.’ She nodded.

  He reached out and took hold of her curved hips, guiding her off the horse. The act brought her body to his, sliding down his length, so a heat that was impossible to ignore began to burn between her legs. She stood there, staring up at him, the sky bathing them in shades of violet and orange, the first stars beginning to twinkle overhead.

  ‘Why did you bring me here?’

  A muscle jerked low in his jaw. She dropped her eyes to it, fascinated. Her fingertips itched to reach up and touch, to explore the planes of his face, to feel him with her eyes closed and see him as he’d been in the maze.

  ‘You wanted to see it.’

  Her lips twisted in a half-smile. ‘There are many things I want to see.’

  ‘This was easy to arrange.’

  The answer disappointed her. He was right. This had been easy—a short ride across the desert. He’d undoubtedly wanted to give the bird an outing—bringing Johara was just an afterthought.

  It meant nothing to him. She was embarrassing herself by making it into more.

  His voice rumbled through her doubts. ‘And I wanted to see it with you. Through your eyes.’ And then, with a frown, he lifted his hand to lightly caress her cheek. ‘I wanted to see your wonderment as you looked upon the ruins. I wanted to be here with you.’

  Disappointment evaporated; pleasure soared in its place.

  He dropped his hand and took a step backwards. She wanted to scream. He stalked away from her, pulling the blanket from the side of the horse and removing a silver bottle. ‘Would you like some water?’

  She took it gratefully, taking a drink before handing it back to him. A drop of water escaped from the corner of her lips and before she could catch it, he’d reached out, his fingertip chasing it away then lingering beside her mouth.

  She was in a world of trouble.

  He took the bottle, had a drink then replaced it. ‘Come on.’ The words were gruff but she knew why. He wasn’t impatient or annoyed. He was fighting himself, trying to get control of how he felt about her and what he wanted. He was fighting the same war he’d been fighting since the night of the masquerade, when they’d learned who they truly were.

  It was a war, she realised in a blinding moment of clarity, that they were both destined to lose. Just as passion had overpowered them on that first night, without reason or sense, it would triumph again.

  ‘Do you—’

  Another sentence she didn’t—couldn’t—finish.

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Need to tie him up?’ She jerked her thumb towards the horse without looking away from Amir. His eyes briefly flicked to the animal, his lips curling when he returned the full force of his attention to Johara.

  ‘No. He will stay nearby.’

  A frisson of awareness shifted across her spine. ‘Because you’re the Sheikh and everyone and everything in this kingdom must obey you?’

  His brows lifted, amusement and something far more dangerous flickering in the depths of his eyes. ‘Because he is well trained.’ He shifted his body weight from one foot to the other, the act bringing him infinitesimally closer. ‘And yes, because he obeys me.’

  Every feminist bone in her body despaired at the pleasure she took in that—the idea of submitting to this man was sensual and pleasing and answered some archaic desire deep within her. She revolted against it, blinking to clear those desperately unworthy thoughts and forcing herself to step away from him, pretending fascination with the ruins. It was a fascination she shouldn’t have needed to pretend. The ruins were beautiful, ancient, endlessly steeped in history and folklore; Johara had longed to see them since she’d first heard about them as a teenager.

  Amir clearly knew them well. He guided her through the buildings, or what was left of them, describing what each would have housed. The accommodations, the stables, the hall for dining and the communal courtyard from which announcements were made.

  With his words and his knowledge, he brought the ruins to life for Johara. As he spoke, she could see the colours, the people, she could imagine the noise—horses snorting and stomping, people talking, laughing. It was all so vivid.

  ‘I never thought they would be this beautiful,’ she said, shaking her head as he led her across the courtyard and through a narrow opening. A tower stood sentinel over the ruins.

  ‘For security,’ he murmured. ‘This gave a vantage point in all directions.’ The stairs were time-worn, carved into low depressions at the centre of each courtesy of footsteps and sandstorms.

  ‘It’s perfectly safe,’ he assured her as they reached the top and he pushed open another door to reveal a small opening. The balcony was not large—with the two of them standing there, it left about a metre’s space, and there were no guard rails, which meant Johara instinctively stayed close to Amir.

  ‘Do you come out here often?’

  ‘I used to.’ The sun was so close to the bottom of the horizon, and the sky was now at its finest. Vibrant pink streaks flew towards them, spectacular against a mauve sky with diamond-like stars beginning to shine.

  ‘Not any more?’ She looked towards him.

  ‘I have less time now.’

  ‘Right. The whole sheikh thing.’ She banged her palm to her forehead, feigning forgetfulness. ‘If I were you, I think I’d come here every day, regardless.’

  Her sigh made him smile. ‘What do you like about it so much?’

  ‘The history.’ She answered automatically. ‘The tangible connection to the past. When you described the purpose of each of the buildings I felt generations of people come back to life.’

  ‘And you like history?’

  ‘I like the lessons it can teach us,’ she said without missing a beat. ‘Nothing we do is new. It’s important to remember the way things have played out in the past, otherwise humanity will keep making the same mistakes over and over again.’

  He studied her face thoughtfully. ‘Such as war?’ he prompted.

  ‘Well, yes. Such as war.’

  ‘And yet, regardless of the fact we know what war entails and how badly it always ends, we keep finding ourselves in that state. Perhaps it’s simply inherent to human nature to want to fight?’

  ‘And assert our dominance?’ She pulled a face. ‘I’d like to think we can evolve beyond that.’

  ‘There is a lot of evidence to the contrary.’

  ‘We’re in a state of evolution,’ she retorted, a smile on her lips.

  ‘And you are a hopeless optimist,’ he remembered, and just like that, the first night they’d met was a binding, wrapping around them, making it impossible to forget a similar exchange they’d once shared.

  ‘I’m not really. I think I’m a realist who looks on the bright side wherever possible.’

  ‘Ah.’ He made a sound of having been corrected. ‘And I’m a realist who doesn’t look on the bright side?’

  ‘You’re just a hyper-realist.’ She smiled at him, an easy smile that morphed into something like a grin and then slowly began to fade from her face as the sun began to drop towards the horizon, so close to disappearing. She angled her face towards it, wondering why she felt as though she’d run a marathon, why her breath felt so tight in her lungs.

  ‘From here, you can see all the way to the mountains in this direction.’ He lifted his arm towards the north. She followed and nodded, her throat thick with feeling. ‘And in this direction, the palace—though it wasn’t there when this was built.’

  ‘No,’ she agreed, the words just a croak. The sun was a fireball in the sky, burning close to the horizon. The colours emanating from it were magnificent. Amir’s falcon circled overhead and Johara’s eyes followed its stately progress, each span of its wings spreading something
before her. Magic. Destiny. A sense of fate.

  She wrenched her gaze back to Amir’s. ‘Thank you for bringing me here.’

  That same muscle throbbed low in his jaw. ‘Don’t thank me. My reasons were purely selfish.’

  ‘Oh?’ It was just a breathy sound. ‘You’re not planning on throwing me off the tower, are you?’ She strove for lightness, something to alleviate the suffocating tension that was tightening around her.

  He shook his head slowly. His hand lifted to her hair, touching it so gently, so reverently, that she pressed her head towards him, craving a deeper touch.

  ‘I wanted to be alone with you, as we were in the maze.’

  Her stomach swooped and dropped.

  ‘You were right the other night.’

  She didn’t say anything.

  ‘I intended to use you as—how did you put it?’

  ‘A scapegoat,’ she murmured quickly.

  ‘Yes, a scapegoat.’ His smile was laced with self-mockery. ‘You were right.’

  ‘I know.’ She looked away from him but he lifted his fingers to her chin, gently tilting her face back to his. His fingers moved lower, tracing the pulse point at the base of her neck. He must have been able to feel the frantic racing of it.

  ‘I do want you.’

  She didn’t say anything.

  ‘But the boundaries of what this is—of what it can be—are something I have no power to affect.’

  Her head felt dizzy. She swayed a little. He put a hand out, wrapping it around her waist, holding her against him. They were bound like that, drawn together, unable to be apart. At least for now.

  ‘The peace is tenuous. And making it last is the most important thing I will ever do in my life. I must make this work—my people deserve my absolute dedication to this cause. If news were to break that something personal was happening between us, you a Qadir and me a Haddad...’

  She swallowed. ‘We slept together once. No one needs to know.’

  His brow creased, his eyes grew serious. ‘I’m not talking about then. Right now, this day, standing here with you, I want you, Johara. I want more of you. All of you. While you’re here in this country, I want you in my life, my bed, I want you to myself whenever we can manage it. I can offer you nothing beyond this—the decision is yours. Is this enough?’