Hidden In the Sheikh's Harem Read online

  He stilled and she knew he was remembering the same thing that she was. ‘So I did.’ He drew her into the circle of his arms. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’

  Embarrassed. Confused. Wanton... ‘Good,’ she said gruffly, unsure what the post-sex etiquette was with a man who was still a virtual stranger to her.

  ‘You’re not sore?’ His eyes scanned hers. ‘I wasn’t exactly as gentle as I had promised for your first time.’

  Farah knew she was blushing and hated the way he so effortlessly undermined her self-possession while he remained so composed. It hardly seemed fair. ‘Not sore at all,’ she lied blithely. If he was unaffected by her, then she was equally unaffected by him.

  About to pull away and ask for a coffee, she gasped as his hands skimmed up her waist and cupped her breasts. Her eyes flew to his as her hands manacled his wrists, her breathing uneven. ‘Zach?’

  He strummed his thumbs across her nipples. ‘How about here? Was I too rough here?’

  He knew he hadn’t been. He knew right now she was so turned on she was about to melt at his feet. ‘I... I... What about your finger?’

  He lifted her onto the bench and stepped between her legs. ‘My finger is not the part of my anatomy that is concerning me at the moment.’ He tugged at the zip on his jeans, his eyes on her mouth. ‘Something else is.’

  Farah’s insides clenched hungrily as that something else sprang thick and long from the opening in his jeans. She licked her lips and did what she had wanted to do ever since she’d felt him against her: she reached out and touched him, circling him with her fist.

  He groaned and gripped the bench either side of her hips, tension drawing the skin on his face tight. Forgetting all about how awkward and confused he made her feel, she moved her hand experimentally along his smooth, solid length, loving the loss of composure she saw in his expression.

  ‘Firmer,’ he rasped, his head bowed back, the muscles in his neck straining.

  ‘Like this?’ She stroked him again. Harder.

  His nostrils flared as he brought heavy-lidded eyes back to hers. ‘Oh yeah, just like that.’

  Not giving herself time to think, Farah bobbed her head and took the tip of him into her mouth. The sound he made was deep and guttural, and his hands came up to cup the back of her head. The taste of him was hot and male on her tongue and a rush of liquid heat pooled between her thighs.

  ‘Enough.’ Zach urged her head up and yanked his T-shirt over her head, pushing her back on the bench and following her down to clamp his mouth over hers. He pushed her legs wide, his finger sliding inside her, and he groaned again. ‘So wet, so ready, habiba.’ And then he was there, sliding her forward off the bench and onto him.

  Five minutes later, Farah was a sweaty mess on the bed with a heavy male panting on top of her.

  ‘Farah, hell...’ He raked a hand through his hair and levered himself off her. ‘I was at least planning to feed you first.’ Her stomach grumbled and he rolled her over so that she was on top of him. ‘Sorry, sweetheart.’

  ‘It’s okay. It was...’

  ‘Good?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Shockingly good?’

  ‘Yes.’ She sighed, trying not to think too hard about anything. ‘Is sex always like this?’

  ‘It’s called making love and, no, it’s not.’

  Making love? ‘Ah, Zachim?’ She wrinkled her nose as she smelt something burning.

  He stroked his hand down the curve of her spine. ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Did you turn the stove off?’

  ‘Holy—’ Unconcerned about his nakedness, he vaulted from the bed and ran to the other room.

  Grabbing his T-shirt again, she quickly donned it and followed, to find him rinsing a steaming pan under a tap, the inside charred to black.

  He looked over his shoulder at her. ‘I hope you like your bacon well-done.’

  She laughed.

  * * *

  Later, they finally ate, and not a minute too soon, because Zach was sure his stomach had been about to feed on itself while he fed on her.

  He looked across at her curled in the window seat, nursing a fresh cup of coffee and a faraway look as she gazed out over the tranquil blue waters of Talamanca Bay. The remains of their breakfast—eggs sans bacon—were pushed away on the breakfast table between them.

  The air was balmy with late morning, the waters calm, and his thoughts somehow just as peaceful. The restless emptiness he’d been experiencing a few weeks ago strangely settled. By this woman?

  The question threw him a little because he had no idea how she felt about him.

  It was a surprisingly angst-ridden thought for a man who was used to women who would watch paint dry if he told them he found it fascinating. Not that Farah would. She’d no doubt roll her eyes and tell him a camel had more brains than he did. The thought made him smile and he was determined to remove the pensive look on her face.

  Feeling strangely bereft of the skills that had led him arrogantly to claim that he was good with women and horses, he cleared his throat. ‘You look troubled, habiba. Want to share?’

  She glanced at him, her eyes guarded. Slowly she set her mug down on the table. ‘It’s nothing.’

  He cocked an eyebrow and waited, resisting the need to haul her into his lap to comfort her and pet her. ‘Nothing seems to get us into trouble. How about we try some other word?’

  A faint smile tugged at her lips. ‘Okay, I was... I was thinking that we don’t really know each other very well.’

  ‘Well, we do,’ he corrected lazily. ‘But that’s not what you meant.’

  Her smile turned wry. ‘No.’

  ‘Okay, well, I know that you take your coffee white with one and you know I have mine black. What else would you like to know?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She made a face. ‘What is your favourite breakfast?’

  ‘Bacon,’ he delivered, deadpan. ‘Yours?’

  She laughed and he took it as a small victory. ‘Eggs with sumac, hummus on flatbread, yoghurt and dates.’

  ‘What about toast with Vegemite?’

  She frowned. ‘What is that?’

  ‘It’s something I discovered on a tour of Australia. You will love it.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Naturally.’

  He smiled. ‘Favourite colour?’

  ‘Too many to choose. You?’

  He looked at her hair. ‘Chestnut brown.’

  She blushed beautifully. ‘Favourite pastime?’

  ‘Tinkering with engines. Yours?’

  ‘Reading.’

  Zach smiled as he felt some of the tension ease out of her. ‘See? Already the marriage is working.’

  ‘What about love?’

  He stilled, his heart hammering. Was she about to tell him that love was important to her? That she didn’t love him? ‘What about it?’ he asked gruffly.

  ‘Your mother said you always wanted to marry for love.’

  ‘My mother talks too much. Tell me how you came to use a sword so well.’

  It was an obvious change of subject but Farah let it go because for some reason talking about love bothered her as much as it seemed to bother him. ‘How is your arm?’ she asked. ‘I noticed this morning it still had a mark. I’m sorry I sliced you.’

  ‘It was more of a nick, but I’m sorry I underestimated you. You’re very good.’

  She pulled a face. ‘Hardly.’

  He leaned over and tapped the edge of her nose. ‘It was a compliment. So, what made you learn?’

  That slight, vulnerable look he’d seen before briefly crossed her face and he was almost sorry he’d asked. Then she shrugged as if it didn’t matter and he knew that it did. A lot.

  ‘When my mother and unborn brother died
my father was devastated and nothing I did seemed to help. One day while I was weaving a basket to sell at the markets, I saw how much fun the boys were having and how strong they looked, sparring with each other. It made me hate being a weak girl, so I asked to join them.’

  ‘I’m surprised your father let you.’

  ‘He didn’t know.’ She gave a rueful grimace. ‘For a long time he was sort of absent. But I knew how badly he had wanted a son and I wanted to impress him. So I trained hard and entered the tournament that we hold at the village once a year—and I nearly won.’

  He smiled. ‘I have no doubt. And was he impressed?’

  Farah looked across at Zach and realised just how much she’d told him and how easy he was to talk to—something else she hadn’t expected. Deciding that she might as well continue, she hugged her knees into her chest. ‘Shocked is probably more the word I would use.’ She pulled a rueful face, trying not to recall her father’s harsh disapproval and her utter sense of hopelessness at the time. ‘Sometimes it felt like nothing I did was—’ She stopped, feeling more exposed than when she was lying before him naked.

  ‘Good enough?’ He filled in. ‘Don’t look so surprised, habiba. Your father isn’t the only man to doll out conditional love.’ His expression grew grim. ‘My father was of the same ilk.’

  Conditional love? Farah had never thought of it like that. Was that what her father gave? It seemed so obvious now, but always, in the past, she had thought there was something lacking in her.

  A feeling of lightness came over her and she laughed. ‘Why did I never think of that?’

  Zach shrugged. ‘Our fathers had a way of making us feel otherwise.’

  Realising that Zach’s father must not have approved of him, either, she leant forward. ‘Are you saying you didn’t see eye to eye with your father, either?’

  Zach gave a short bark of laughter. ‘That’s putting it mildly. Nadir was always his favourite and he had little time for me as his spare.’

  Farah heard the layer of pain behind that one word and her heart went out to him, not for one minute having thought that they would have something like this in common. ‘And you never resented your brother for that?’ Because at times she still felt guilty about her old feelings of resentment towards her unborn brother, certain that her own death would not have wrought half the pain in her father that his had.

  ‘It wasn’t Nadir’s fault. My father was raised hard and he raised us hard.’

  ‘Still, I admire that you didn’t feel second-best.’

  ‘Oh, I felt it. Often. Second-best. Third-best. I did everything to get his attention: being good, being bad, being funny, being smart, being strong... Then I realised that beating my head against a brick wall was only denting my head, not his, so I stopped. I joined the Foreign Legion, did a degree in engineering and started my own company. When I first got back to Bakaan—as you know—there was a lot to do to settle down the unrest. Then I saw how badly things had become and I did what I could behind the scenes.’

  Did what he could? Farah blinked. ‘It’s you,’ she said abruptly, instinctively knowing that he was the one who had organised the contraband goods their village—and probably others—received on a regular basis.

  He smiled. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head, still dazed to think it might be true. ‘You’re the one who organised the medical supplies and educational material that is sent out to the villages in our area.’

  He shrugged. ‘I know it wasn’t much, but it was all I could do while my father was alive. That will change though.’

  ‘Thank you. That was...’ She swallowed, struggling for words. For years she’d carried around a grudge against the Darkhans because she had blamed them for the loss of her mother and the happy life she had known before. She hadn’t questioned the who, what or why of what had happened but had accepted her father’s view and taken it on as her own. How could she have been so narrow-minded? How could she have let the past colour her view of the world so completely? ‘I’m sorry. I think it was me who underestimated you this time.’

  ‘Come here. I want to hold you.’

  She unfolded shaky legs out from under her and went to him. She let him pull her down onto his lap and opened for him when he kissed her.

  ‘You know, ever since you told me you were responsible for that publication five years ago I’ve been thinking about something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I want to suggest to Nadir that you become the ambassador for change in the outer regions.’

  ‘What?’ she parroted, unable to take in what he’d just offered.

  ‘You have a sharp mind, habiba. It would be remiss of me not to utilise that. And changing years of cultural norms is not going to be easy. People will resist. They need to feel there is someone they can trust, especially since I am certain Nadir and I will be viewed sceptically at first.’

  Farah chewed on the inside of her lip, her heart thumping hard at the thought. What he said made sense, and she would love it, but... ‘You would let your wife work?’

  ‘As long as it doesn’t interfere with her home duties, of course.’

  She felt her tentative bubble of hope burst. Here it comes, she thought, the proviso. She raised her chin. ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as keeping our apartment spic and span, making sure my clothing is cleaned and ironed, servicing me whenever and wherever I— Oof!’

  Farah punched him lightly on the shoulder, realising he was teasing her, and completely thrown by the unexpected playfulness. ‘You’re joking.’

  He laughed deeply. ‘For a non-violent person, you pack quite a punch.’

  ‘I am usually non-violent,’ she cried. ‘I don’t know what gets into me around you.’

  The look he gave her could have heated the polar ice caps. ‘I can tell you what gets into you.’ His hands grew possessive, demanding. ‘Me. And I have to tell you that every time you get feisty it makes me hot.’

  Farah swallowed, instant arousal turning her limbs to jelly. ‘Every time?’

  As if knowing just how ready she was for him, he drew in a sharp breath and rose, with her still in his arms as if she were no heavier than one of the cushions they’d been seated on.

  ‘Every time.’ He strode inside and dumped her on the sofa, his hands raising her T-shirt and sliding along the sensitive skin of her belly. ‘But I was serious about one of those duties.’ He fingered his belt buckle. ‘Want me to demonstrate?’

  Feeling herself melting, and unable to contain it, she reached up and pulled him down over her. ‘Maybe a little more instruction might be worthwhile.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IT WAS SOME sort of loud banging that roused Zach from a sweet dream and a deep sleep. Thinking it was an alarm, he rolled over and thumped the digital clock on the bedside table. Farah stirred beside him and he automatically tightened his arm around her shoulders.

  She settled deeper into the crook of his arm and he closed his eyes.

  Before arriving in Ibiza, while Farah had slept on the plane, Zach had made some plans about what they would do after they had settled in. First they would explore the beaches around Talamanca Bay, then they’d fly to a little out-of-the-way Spanish restaurant he knew in Dalt Vila, maybe sail around the beautiful island of Es Vedra and watch the sunset from the popular spot nearby.

  What they ended up doing was never leaving the apartment—three days in and out of bed eating takeout that was brought by his security detail and introducing Farah to trashy TV—to which his new wife was now addicted. His mouth quirked at her penchant for Doris Day movies and he made a mental note to check the guide before channel-surfing with her again. He’d tried to explain that real men didn’t watch romantic movies but she’d nestled more comfortably against him and he’d shut up. And enjoyed himself.

>   He’d also enjoyed breakfast. Since learning what she preferred, he’d had the food stockpiled and he liked to watch her potter around, fixing share plates for them both while he brewed the coffee. Then he’d pop the toast in the toaster and over their meal he’d try to convince her to give Vegemite a go. So far she’d steadfastly refused but he’d seen the look of horror cross her face when she’d dipped her little finger in the jar to test it. He’d nearly laughed out loud but instead had kissed her into a stupor before bending her over the table and lifting her—his—T-shirt.

  Damn, but he loved her in his T-shirts, with all that dark hair rippling down her back, her feet bare. All in all he’d say she fascinated him and in a surprisingly short space of time, his feelings for his wife had deepened to the point that he now struggled to label them. In fact if he didn’t know better he’d think— The loud thumping started up again, breaking his train of thought.

  ‘Darkhan, you lazy bastard,’ a voice hollered from downstairs. ‘We know you’re in there. Your security team told us.’

  Farah stiffened in his arms. ‘Who is that?’

  ‘Shh,’ he murmured as he disentangled himself from her limbs. ‘I’ll take care of it.’

  He grabbed his jeans on the way out and shoved them on. Then he headed downstairs and opened the front door of the villa. Sunlight spilled over the terracotta-tiled portico. Damian and Luke stood there, grinning like tomcats.

  ‘You idiots ever heard of calling first?’ Zach complained.

  ‘We did. We’ve been calling and texting since yesterday.’ Damian pushed past him into the foyer. ‘You didn’t respond.’ He slapped him on the back. ‘It’s great to see you.’

  ‘I forgot to check my phone.’ In fact he hadn’t checked his phone since...well, he couldn’t remember.

  Luke ambled past at a slower pace. ‘Sweet digs. We thought you might be side-tracked by a beautiful...’ His friend’s voice trailed off and Zach followed his gaze to the top of the stairs where Farah stood in nothing but his T-shirt, holding a large chef’s knife in her hand. Zach grimaced. He really needed to show her where the suitcases were. And as for the knife... She squeaked out a noise as she noticed the three of them taking in her long legs and darted out of sight.