Stolen by The Sheikh

STOLEN BY THE SHEIKH

By

Marianne LaCroix

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author‟s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. STOLEN BY THE SHEIKH By Marianne LaCroix Red Rose Publishing Copyright© 2007 Marianne LaCroix ISBN: 978-1-60435-019-7 ISBN: 1-60435-019-9 Cover Artist: Marianne LaCroix Editor: Pollyanna Williamson All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Due to copyright laws, you can not trade, sell or give any ebooks away. Red Rose Publishing www.redrosepublishing.com 12065 Woodhull Road Forestport, NY 13338

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STOLEN BY THE SHEIKH

By

Marianne LaCroix

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For my friend Wendi.

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Chapter One Morocco, 1912 Lady Christine Langtry shivered under the dark, heated gaze of the mysterious desert lord who held her captive. His eyes pierced her skin as though he touched her with the scalding hot tip of a blade. She pulled at the bonds about her wrists which were tied to the center pole of a lavishly decorated tent. He towered over her as she crouched on the floor, and he slowly lowered his face veil revealing his handsome face. Dark skin against the clean white linen of his abaya, a robe, and the indigo fabric of his tagelmost, a combination of a turban and protective face veil, he was a vision of dreams—the very sexual and scandalous kind. His eyes, black as onyx, were hot and mysterious, and his smile shone bright against the contrasting brown of his skin. He wore a neatly trimmed black goatee and mustache that perfectly accentuated his full lips. He said nothing but merely peered down at her. His presence was commanding, and his air was arrogant. He knew of his appeal and seemed to expect her to feel warm honeyed desire for him. “Please let me go. Return me to Casablanca,” she pleaded, breaking the silence of the tent. “No.” “But why?” She was almost afraid to ask. It was obvious he‟d not intended to kill her. She was still alive. “Because you belong to me.” She was surprised at his use of perfect English laced with an Arabic accent. He had a sensual sounding voice making her insides clench. “This is insane.” “I can see you will not be easy to tame.” She struggled against the ropes once again. “Let me go this instant, you…you...beast!” He smiled devilishly. “No.” “So what are you going to do with me? You could have killed me hours ago.” She paused before breathing aloud the other possibility. 5

Did I come to this foreign place just to be raped? Why did I ever agree to come? How did I get into this mess? When her husband, Lord Edmund Langtry, had announced the trip to Morocco to improve their stock of horses with the sturdy Arabian breed, she‟d welcomed his absence. Her marriage was not created from love, and tender emotion had never developed between them over the years. They existed in the same house but pursued different lives outside their few social appearances where they acted the happily married couple. Her marriage to Edmund had been arranged by her father, and she had little input in the matter. Edmund needed her wealth and connections to re-establish his family‟s title and financial losses. For six years Christine lived at arms length from her husband as she built a successful business in supplying fine horseflesh to the rich and elite. Edmund‟s interests, however, were gambling and dallying with the upstairs maids, and Christine welcomed his disinterest. After he‟d left, months passed without word from Edmund. Then the letter arrived summoning her to come to Casablanca. While en route, she received a telegram at her hotel in Lisbon as she awaited her ship to Casablanca. Edmund had been found dead in the desert with a gunshot wound to the shoulder. There was no doubt in her mind he‟d been murdered, left out in the desert to die. But who would do such a thing? Edmund had never been overly useful in her business, but he had managed to collect several fine horses she could cross breed with her existing stock. She had the horses shipped to England on the next ship to Lisbon and then on to England. She hoped this last purchase would secure her financial future and give her the means to continue the business despite Edmund‟s suspicious death. Could this kidnapping be connected to his murder? She peered at the man who held her as captive. He could be dangerous. She had to escape. But how? As though reading her thoughts, he said, “Do not think of running.” “You can‟t keep me here.” She hoped someone at the hotel had noticed her absence at lunch and already contacted the authorities. “You are mine.” His voice was harsh, strong and unwavering. “What do you mean „yours‟?” “Do not question me,” he snapped. 6

She paused under his dark gleam of anger, and her first instinct was to fight. “I am a British citizen, and you can‟t just take me off the street and say you own me.” She tugged at her ropes but to no use. “You are the widow of Lord Langtry, yes?” She stilled, concerned how he knew her identity. Maybe this wasn‟t as random of an act as she first thought. This may very well be connected to Edmund‟s death. “Yes,” she answered warily. “Then you are charged to fulfill his debt.” “I‟m not sure what you mean.” “It does not matter that you understand. Only know that you belong to me, and I find your spirit refreshing and your pale beauty…appealing.” He stroked a brown finger along her cheek and she turned away from his touch. His warmth scorched her, and she gasped with surprise at her body‟s reaction to his simple touch. “Don‟t touch me,” she said quietly. She didn‟t want to feel anything but contempt for this man, but her skin tingled where he‟d touched her. It was too alarming…she reacted to his touch like a virgin about to lose her maidenhead to her first lover. Anticipation was not how she wanted to feel, nevertheless, she shook with sexual expectancy. He roughly picked her off the floor, her wrists still securely tied to the pole. He shoved her against him and her breath caught in her throat. He was strong and powerful, and his eyes were like hot coals lit with heated, angry desire. Her cunt tingled as he pierced her with his dark gaze. “You will give yourself to me, woman, willingly…or otherwise.” Then he crushed his mouth upon hers, stealing her breath with a searing, greedy kiss. He gripped the back of her head and plundered her mouth with his tongue. She clutched onto her ropes tightly, unable to fight the onslaught of passionate kisses from this desert lord. Rapacious hunger sparked to life and he clasped her body against his with one hand as he steadied her head with the other. He tasted of exotic spices and man, intoxicating her senses further as he raped her mouth with possessive kisses. He nipped and licked her lips then renewed sparring with her tongue with his own. Christine melted, surrendering to his dark looks, his seductive touch, and the erotic promises whispered with each pass of his lips. He commanded her body‟s response into fiery yearning, a sensation she‟d not experienced in her marriage bed. 7

“You are mine, little rose…mine,” he whispered against her lips. “No, please, I can‟t do this,” she turned her face away from his and tried to push him away. Her body hummed with awareness and need, but how could she even consider wanting another man after losing Edmund? What kind of widow was she to let her body melt with desire for this strange man? She had to resist the temptation. She must. “You will,” he said briskly. He reached to his belt and pulled out a large knife. She gasped but then he sliced the blade through the ropes. For a spilt second, she stood stunned, but then gathered her senses and tried to bolt away. He grabbed her wrist and shoved her against him again. Despite the robe and tunic he wore, his erection was unmistakable. “Don‟t try to escape me. Wherever you go, I will follow.” And in a flash, his knife sliced through the thin fabric of her gown, then her brassiere and panties, stripping her of the last layers of protection between herself and this desert god. She tried to cover herself, but he shoved her hands away. “Never try to cover your body from my eyes.” His voice was surprisingly softer, gentler as he caught her hands and lowered them from her chest, revealing her rounded breasts tipped with taut peaks of dusty rose. “I will give you pleasure when I fill you as you lie beneath me.” She trembled at his words, confused at her traitorous reactions to his promise. Juices flowed from her slit, and her clitoris ached with need. She wanted this man, this dark, mysterious man, to take her. In her heart, she needed this moment of passion, this loss of control. She‟d never lost herself in Edmund‟s arms, and somehow, this man made her quiver with untapped passion—passion she never realized she‟d missed until this very moment. What did she have to lose in having sex with this man? He was handsome and she longed for a man to fulfill her needs, and this stranger staked a claim upon her body in a matter of moments. She wanted to feel reckless…to feel the hot pleasures he‟d promised with every kiss. In surrender she wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him in return. She opened her body to him, allowing herself a night of abandon. She had no idea who this man was, but all that mattered was he wanted her. He wanted her. 8

Excitement bubbled through her body as he possessed her lips once again. She moaned into his kiss as his tongue darted along hers, twisting and tasting every little hidden recess of her mouth. Her surrender increased his ardor as he once again threaded his fingers through her hair and held her, ensuring she‟d not escape his carnal cravings. Then he broke their kiss and leaned down to lift her into the air. He cradled her body against him and she nuzzled his softly bearded jaw. She breathed deeply of his exotic spicy scent and her sex hummed with anticipation. She pushed away his head cloth revealing long silky black hair that fell long about his shoulders. As she threaded her fingers through those soft waves, he moaned. He turned his lips to hers and tenderly kissed her. She tightened her fingers in his hair, grasping his head steadily to her mouth. There was no doubt in her heart. This moment was made for lustful desire. She wanted him to touch her, caress her—worship her. She‟d hungered for too long. He groaned into their kiss, and before laying her down gently upon his bed covered in red silk, she sucked upon his bottom lip. His beard brushed her face, adding to the tingling effect of his kiss. On the bed, she gazed up at him with passion heavy eyes. Without a word, he pealed away his tunic and robe, dropping the garments to the rug covered ground. He then removed his loose fitting linen pants and his knee-length tan leather boots. She instinctively opened her legs before him and dipped a finger into her cunt. She shivered as his black eyes watched her slowly circle a finger over her hardened bud. In moments he stood at the bedside naked, his bronze skin dark under the fading sunlight. His chest was rippled with muscle and a light sprinkle of black hair ending down to the nest cradling his erection. He gripped his cock and stroked its length in his hand, and she was transfixed as it grew still larger. She licked her lips as a bead of liquid gathered upon the tip of his cock. Was it as spicy to the taste as his kisses? He settled between her legs, nudging them open wider as he lowered his hips to hers. His cock, hard and hot along her slit, scorched her as it passed over her sensitive clit and along her wet folds. 9

“I will not leave you unfulfilled,” he whispered. He slowly entered her sheath and she clutched her hands to his shoulders as he pushed in deeply. She gasped but was silenced when he crushed her mouth beneath his. Her flesh stretched, accommodating his size, and she was lost to the sensation of being filled. He filled her body, linking his sex well within her, and she held onto him as the pleasure built between them. He kissed her deeply, his tongue darting along hers, devouring her with each pass. Even his beard against her face aroused her higher to the point of climax. Then he began to move his hips, maneuvering his cock out slightly then ramming it back in once again. She cried out against his mouth each time his cock pressed further inside her body. She wrapped her legs about his hips, taking him in deeper, wishing to feel the full impact of this dark man‟s length pounding into her body with sweet restraint. She wanted him to move faster, and nudged her hips in a quicker pace, but he refused to submit his control over the building crescendo. She let her hands wander across his shoulders and down his back, worshiping the masculine power of his body. He licked her earlobe and nibbled at the sensitive skin behind her ear. Goosebumps rose along the back of her legs, and she moaned. Closing her eyes, she lost herself in the pure bliss of the moment. In ecstasy, she tossed back her head and surrendered to this mysterious man. He pumped in and out and in again, driving her closer and closer to orgasm. She withheld her end as long as she could. He ground his hips against her clit and the head of his cock tapped against her cervix. When the final wave was about to crash against her, he increased his rhythm, growing larger within her as he neared his finale. “Oh, oh…oh yes!” she cried out and gripped his shoulders again as her body‟s spasms rolled through her entire being. He thrust into her wildly and met her upon the height of climax as he spilled his seed into her channel. Hot semen filled her and she rode out wave after wave of blissful culmination. Her body shuddered in the aftershocks of her climax. He rolled over, taking her with him so she‟d lie to his side, her head upon his 10

chest. She lay quietly as her breathing slowed, listening to his heartbeat calming. She ran her fingers through the black hair on his chest and sighed. For the first time in her life, she‟d found ecstasy in bed with a man. Edmund had taken her on her wedding night. It was without ceremony, without passion. She‟d lie on her back, awaiting him to finish, never feeling the spark of desire as he pumped into her. Edmund‟s nightly visits to her bed for sex were frequent in the beginning, but then he‟d lost interest. Christine was left wondering why she was left unsatisfied. Were women denied pleasure in the bedroom? She thought so—until now. “Who are you?” she whispered, breaking the silence. He covered her hand with his. His skin was warm against hers, and she felt the flood of renewed desire between her legs. “I am Sheikh Zafar bin Hassan, ruler of my desert tribe.” She leaned up in bed and gazed down at his face. “A sheikh?” she asked softly, then repeated his name in a low voice. “Sheikh Zafar.” His eyes slid to hers. “You will call me „my lord‟.” She raised an eyebrow. “I‟m not calling you that.” “You will if you know what is good for you,” he said while wrapping his hands about her wrists. She trembled as he tightened his grip about her wrists and pulled her arms above her head. “How long will you keep me here?” He turned toward her and wrapped an arm about her body. “Always.” She tried to break away, but he held her steady against his naked form. “No, you can‟t keep me always. I don‟t belong here. My home is in England.” “You are mine,” he said sternly. “Mine. And you will remain with me.” “You keep saying I‟m „yours‟. I can understand a roll in bed to sate our lusts, but to command I stay forever is a bit extreme.” He flipped her onto her back once again, pinning her down with his weight. It was a wonderful torture to have such a powerful man, all sinew and hard planes, lie upon her, rubbing his larger body so 11

intimately against her softer curves. She shivered at his commanding essence. “Your husband stole something I loved dearly. And now he is dead.” “He stole from you?” What in the world did Edmund do here in Morocco? “I don‟t understand, what does this have to do with me?” “I find you are much more desirable than gold or silver coins. I am a very wealthy man. Money means little to me.” “But…I don‟t even know what you are talking about. I‟m innocent. Any crime Edmund had done here, I am unaware of any knowledge of it. Please, don‟t punish me for something he‟d done. That‟s not fair.” “Do not talk to me of fair. Your husband was a thief. He stole horses from me, and when I caught him, he‟d offered me an alternative payment—you.” She struggled against him. “What? No!” “When I discovered your presence in Casablanca, I came to collect what was given me.” “Barbarian,” she spat angrily. “Payment is due, Lady Langtry,” he started. “And that payment is your body, your surrender—your freedom.”

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Chapter Two Zafar wanted this woman the moment his eyes laid upon her milky white skin and golden hair. He‟d heard the widow of Lord Langtry had arrived, and he had every intention to confront her with her husband‟s debts. Edmund Langtry had begged for a chance to pay for the horses he‟d stolen, but Zafar was not interested in money. He wanted revenge. Then the man made an intriguing offer—his young wife. Langtry had died shortly after they struck a deal and the Lady Langtry was on her way to Casablanca. Zafar decided to demand the return of his horses, but then word of her golden hair and pale beauty reached him. He had to see this woman he‟d been offered. Upon spotting her in the marketplace, in an instant Zafar decided he would take what was rightfully offered to him. Whatever Sheikh Zafar bin Hassan wanted, he acquired. He‟d taken her from the street, sweeping her upon his horse, and then rode to his camp outside Casablanca. She struggled against him, demanding to be released, but he held her with arms of iron. Even as she wiggled against his body, he was enflamed with need. In camp, he tied her inside his tent, ensuring she‟d be there when he returned from his duties tending to the horses. When he eventually strode back into the tent, his body hardened with anticipation to sample his new slave‟s creamy flesh. She‟d resisted, but he read the passion lying beneath her words of denial. He saw her body flush with desire as he gazed down upon her. Her eventual surrender was sweet victory and he dove deep into her body, losing himself to the pleasures of her naked flesh dancing with his. Why she‟d come to be his property mattered little to him. She was his, end of debate. She had been sent for by her husband to be given to him in payment. Her husband was killed, most likely by another he‟d stolen from, and then she arrived in Casablanca. She‟d taken the horses her husband had stolen and sent them away on a ship to England. She was in debt to him, and it was time to collect. No monetary amount would have sufficed. Only the slick passage of her sex opening for his pleasure was what he wanted. Yet, something within him burned for more. She enflamed him unlike any woman he‟d ever known. He‟d thought one taste of her body beneath his would be enough. As he lay upon her holding her 13

wrists above her head, her blue eyes flashing in anger, and her breath coming in quick pants, Zafar wanted her again. He brushed his chin along the peak of a breast, her pert nipple tightening quickly into a taut dark pink berry. He dipped his head to the inviting tip and suckled. Her struggles stilled and then she moaned, arching her back toward him to continue. He lightly grazed his teeth over her nipple, and she tried to pull her hands out of his grasp. He released her wrists and cupped her breast in his hands, licking and laving upon her rosy skin. She threaded her fingers through his hair, hold his head to her breast. When he broke contact to suck upon her other nipple, she groaned in protest, only to pant with need as his tongue swirled around her areola. Responsive and hot, it was a wonder Langtry even considered giving this treasure to another man. Zafar imagined many hot nights of sexual discovery between her legs as she screamed out again and again in completion. It was obvious that Langtry was more than a horse thief; he was an imbecile as well. His cock was hard and throbbing with need to be encased by her sheath. But not yet. He had to map her body with his hands, to touch all of her, to taste and sample every inch of her skin. He slid his hands along her sides, worshiping her feminine curves, the full globes of her breasts and the dip of her waist then the flair of her hips. She had fine, full hips. No bones poking out, just as he liked. She had a body made for him—only him. He released her breast and kissed her within the valley of her perfectly rounded breasts. A thin sheen of sweat coated her skin, and he tasted the intoxicating flavor of her with each pass of his tongue. He held her hips between his hands as he moved lower. At the curve of her belly, he laved her softness. She moaned and moved beneath him. With a glance at her face, she was lost—her eyes were closed and her head tossed on the pillow side to side, and her mouth open, breathing and softly moaning in abandon. Moving even lower, he spread her legs to peer upon her pink folds. Coated in her juices and the remnants of his seed, he passed a finger through her slit gaining a whimper from her lips. He opened her labia and gazed upon her clit glistening in invitation. He stroked the straining nubbin with his thumb, and she bucked her hips against his hand. So responsive. His heart lurched in his chest. The sounds of her building ecstasy made him harden further. 14

He pushed a finger into her little hole, and she cried out. He continued to stroke her clit slowly, very slowly, drawing out her coming release. In and out of her sheath, he coated his fingers with her honey. “Please…” she begged. Her plea warmed his soul. But he wanted more. He wanted her helpless in her surrender, to beg for climax because she could not exist without it another moment. “Tell me, my little rose, do you need to come?” He pushed in and out of her with two fingers and continued circling her nubbin with his thumb. “Yes, please…please…oh God.” She thrashed her head side to side on the pillow. She grasped the sheets at her sides, holding onto the fabric as her climax build steadily. “And who am I? Who is pleasuring your body into completion?” She gasped and cried out his name. “My lord Zafar! Zafar, please!” Then he leaned down to her clit and ran his tongue over the surface. He sucked the little organ between his lips and nibbled, driving her higher into a frenzy. He swirled his fingers inside of her deeply. She bucked her hips and huffed with every thrust. She was close to the edge. So was he, and he hadn‟t even touched himself. He was ready to spill just from the sounds she made. In a swift adjustment of position, he lifted her legs and got onto his knees. Bending her legs close to her torso, her ass lifted into the air, and he entered her. Her slick sheath encased him tightly, hugging his length as she screamed at the sudden invasion. He allowed her a moment to adjust, not wanting to harm her. When her pants turned into sighs of passion, he began to pump into her. Deep and steady, he filled her cavern. The head of his penis tapped against her cervix, driving her into orgasm. Her muscles convulsed and squeezed his cock, and he rammed in and out of her body, quickly finding his own release. He pumped his seed into her, and she cried out with every spasm of her walls enclosing about his length. He cursed in Arabic as he emptied his essence into her. By Allah, this woman was incredible. She‟d surrendered to his touch with her sweet responsiveness. She was a treasure, one he‟d sample as often as possible. 15

Pumping the last of his seed into her hot channel, Zafar vowed to keep her always. This was a woman made for his bedchamber. He would take her home to his lands and keep her as his pleasure slave. She belonged to him now and always. ***** Christine shook at the intensity of the climax she‟d just had. He lowered her legs and eased out of her body. Gently he lay her legs down upon the bed. The mattress shook as he climbed off the bed. She turned to her side and wrapped her arms about her middle. What was happening to her? In a matter of a day, she‟d been kidnapped and seduced into a bed of sexual pleasures with a strange man in a foreign country. Sheikh Zafar. She was given to the desert lord by her husband before his death. Tricked by Edmund, she‟d come to this country to be traded to another man. Kidnapped without explanation, she succumbed to her captor with little resistance. Oh God, did she feel such ecstasy with a complete stranger who treated people like commodities to be traded or bought without thought? Her surrender to the sheikh cemented the underhanded deal between him and her late husband. How could she look at herself in the mirror again? Surely, her reflection would not be her. She was not a person anymore; she was a slave, a man‟s property to be sold or traded away when he tired of her. Or was she to end up in a harem, one lover out of many to the sheikh—a slave among slaves watching younger female slaves taking her place in the sheikh‟s bed. No, Christine refused to stand by and let this man dictate her future. She had a life back in England—a home, a family, a future. The blissful moments of this night would live with her always, but she could not sacrifice her freedom because a few heated caresses. Even if the man fucking her into writhing for more had a way about him that stimulated her senses and excited her body. A relationship could not grow on just sexual compatibility alone. And what did she know of this sheikh? He was a man who took women hostage as payment for a bunch of horses. Hardly a man Christine could hope to love. As if love had meant anything to her—ever. She was never loved. Her mother died when she was an infant and she grew up with only her father, who frequented the gambling 16

hells more than the halls of his own home. At twenty she was bartered off by her father to Edmund. For six years, she lived with a man she did not love. Her father died at the hands of a man looking to collect on a gambling debt. There was no one for her to turn to. At Langtry Manor she tried to make friends with the housekeeper and cook, but they kept their distance. It was then she turned to horses. She discovered she possessed the touch to calm the most untamable beasts. Her skill began her means of escape. Atop a horse racing across the English countryside in the morning mist, Christine found heaven. And somehow, her sole place of paradise had been cruelly ripped away from her in a matter of a few hours. She had to get away from here and this dark desert lord. She did not belong here. She had to escape. He returned to the side of the bed carrying a basin of water. He soaked a cloth into the water and turned to her. “Let me cleanse you,” he said softly as he guided her to open her legs. Gently he passed the cool wet cloth over her sex, wiping away the evidence of their lovemaking. It was strangely intimate, and she watched with curious eyes. “You have questions,” he finally said. “I thought I couldn‟t question you.” Zafar smiled and her heart leapt in her chest. He was so exotically handsome. “You learn quickly. Good.” He added in a gentle tone, “Now, you may speak. Ask your questions.” She bit her lip. Dare she ask to be released once the night was over? She instead asked, “What do you intend to do with me?” He chuckled and the sound vibrated through her body ending at the place he caressed with the cloth. It did little to cool her heating libido. “I thought my intentions were clear,” he said as he placed the cloth in the water when he finished his task. “Just have sex. That‟s it?” “Very good sex.” His eyes roamed over her breasts and a blush rose across her face. “But I‟m nothing to you. What we‟ve done is purely a physical, sexual act. You can have sex with any woman you desired.” She grabbed a nearby silk crocheted blanket and covered her body from his black eyes. His gaze was too heated for her to think clearly. 17

“And I desire you.” She crooked a brow and slid back against the pillows. “I don‟t want to be desired by you.” He reached out to her face and touched her cheek. His touch burned her skin, and she gasped. She couldn‟t help her reactions to this arrogant man. He dropped his hand and said flatly, “You do desire me. Your body betrays you.” “No,” she breathed as she turned her face away from him. He grasped her chin and forced her to look at him. “You belong to me. You will open your body to me, and in return, I will give you untold pleasures.” Then he tugged the edge of the blanket she held firmly in her hand. “Do not hide your body from me.” “I‟m…I‟m not beautiful.” He shook his head as he gently pulled the blanket from her grasp. “You are very beautiful.” “I have too many…curves.” She thought herself ample compared to other women. She had extra weight about her middle, her breasts were larger, and her stomach was not flat but rounded. He climbed onto the bed and over her. “I want a woman in my bed, not some adolescent with no…curves.” He straddled her hips and he began to palm her breasts. She laid her hands on his forearms as he continued to lightly knead her soft globes. “Please…release me. Don‟t keep me here.” Tears threatened to fall, but she fought against the show of weakness. She was already at a disadvantage in her ability to resist him. He stilled and his expression turned from desire to hard anger. “The sooner you realize you belong to me, the better. Do not fight me, woman.” He sprang from the bed and bent to the floor to retrieve his pants and tunic. “Tomorrow, you will travel with me to my home. There you will start your new life as my pleasure slave.” “I am not some object you can possess on a whim,” she spat back at him in anger. He shrugged the tunic over his head, slipped on his pants, and then he stomped into his boots. “You were given to me by your thief husband. I find this arrangement acceptable.” 18

“Acceptable? You arrogant bastard! You can‟t just take me, a free English woman, and make me your slave.” He turned on her, and his hot glare pinned her with rage. Then he stepped to the pole in the middle of the tent and retrieved the sliced ropes. She saw he‟d meant to tie her again and began to shimmy away, but he was upon her instantly. He captured a wrist and tied one to the bed, and then bound the other as well. “Don‟t do this, Zafar,” she whimpered in defeat. He stilled, her voice seemingly breaking through his cold anger. But only for a moment. Content she was unable to escape he left the bed and strode across the tent to pick up his abaya and then his tagelmost. He turned to her as he wound the cloth about his head and then covered his mouth and nose. A jolt of longing shot through her body at the image of the mighty desert lord. She felt utterly at his mercy. “Rest now,” he said as he lifted the tent flap. “We leave for my home in the morning.” “I hate you!” she yelled after him. Then she settled back in the bed and relaxed. “I hate you,” she said again, more to herself, her voice falling dead in the silence of the tent.

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Chapter Three Zafar stormed out of his tent into the night, and her voice followed him outside. “I hate you!” she cried to him angrily. He strode away from the tent and the encampment. Only within the desert stillness did he hope to find the power to control his rage. The Sahara was deadly hot by day, but by night, the air cooled significantly. The quiet over the darkened sand dunes was deafening, and many disliked the eerie stillness when the winds calmed into a faint breeze. This was his favorite time to come out into the desert to think. But even as he walked through the sand, trying to calm his emotions, he could not. The woman…she was infuriating. He should have known an English woman would protest to the laws of his people. Zafar was well within his right to take her. Thievery was punishable by death, but in fear of his life, Langtry opted to give his wife in payment. It was clear to Zafar that the man had crossed a more unforgiving adversary and met his death because of his crimes. Perhaps Zafar should have acted differently. She was a foreigner to his country, and unaware of her husband‟s dealings. Maybe Zafar should have romanced her first and persuaded her to into his bed. No, he preferred his way. She was a woman, destined to serve. She needed no coaxing. He was within his right to take her. It was only her body he wanted. She‟d been given to him, and he possessed her now. Yet, her parting words bothered him. “I hate you” echoed in his mind. He didn‟t want her hatred. He hungered for her passion. He desired her panting with longing as he entered her slick folds, burying his cock well within her body. He craved for her to lose control as he rocked inside of her. Even now, he wanted her again. His cock stiffened painfully with need. Turning back to camp, he strode to where the horses were tied up for the night. He approached his chestnut stallion, Abu, and reached out his hand to the animal. Abu trusted none but Zafar. The horse‟s tongue licked at his palm. 20

“None thought you could be tamed,” Zafar said to the animal as he gently stroked its silky neck. “Perhaps the little English rose will be tamed too.” Then he turned and gathered his saddle and tossed it upon Abu‟s back. He tightened the girth about the horse and then slipped on a bridle. Within moments, Zafar led Abu away from the other horses and then climbed upon his back. With a kick to Abu‟s sides, the horse bolted into a gallop straight into the desert. This was when Zafar felt truly at home. Abu raced up over the rise and across the dunes at breakneck speed. The wind whipped through Abu‟s mane and Zafar tightened his grip upon the reins. The desert was quiet save for the sound of Abu running through the sand and his labored breath. Zafar uncovered his face and embraced freedom as he rode across the land he loved. Yes, she can be tamed. He was sure of that. An hour later, Zafar returned to the encampment and unsaddled Abu, and then rewarded the stallion with a bucket of water and some hay. He took note they would need to visit the nearby well before leaving for his home in the morning. Walking back to his tent he decided to lie with his new slave again. She would be ripe and ready after a few seductive words of promise along with several longing kisses. Soon, his little English rose would learn to quake with anticipation for his touch. At the tent, he lifted the flap and walked inside. He‟d expected her to be asleep, resting as he ordered. Instead she was awake and but unmoving. She refused to turn her head and look at him. Her lips quivered and her eyes were full of fear. Then he followed her gaze to the bed. A scorpion! He moved in a flash, drawing his knife from his side and dashed to the bed. He stabbed the tan creature and it wriggled and stung wildly in its death against the blade. Tossing the creature to the floor, Zafar stepped on it. “It‟s dead now,” he said as he went to her, untying her wrists. Then she did the unexpected. She slapped him across the face. He sat stunned as he caught her arm drawing back to strike again. “What is this? I just saved you from a painful death.” 21

“You bastard, if you hadn‟t tied me up I would have squished that thing myself!” He just stared at her. She was amazing. He smiled and tossed his head back and laughed. “What‟s so funny?” “You.” “Why?” “I thought you would be grateful for my killing the scorpion, instead you sting me…much like the scorpion.” “Perhaps you shouldn‟t leave me tied up and defenseless again.” He sobered. “Only if you promise not to run.” She lowered her eyes. He clasped her face between his hands, forcing her to look at him. Something within him ached…something he could not label. It was new, strange, and painful, and the ache increased as he gazed upon this woman. “Promise me,” he whispered. “I can‟t do that,” she replied softly, her eyes filing with tears. “You will never want for anything.” A tear slid down her cheek. “I want to go home.” He leaned towards her face and kissed away the salty wetness. “You will come to love me.” Now why had he said that? Startled he pulled away from her and saw that she‟d been shocked by his words as well. Angry at his weakness, he released her and stood, turning away. He strode over to a table laden with fruits and nuts. He picked up a goblet and poured himself some water. He drank deeply of the lukewarm water, trying to cool his enflamed body. He was hard, yearning to have her again, but disturbed at the confused thoughts running through his brain. “Would you like some water, perhaps some dates?” he asked. “Yes, I would like some water, but…may I…may I have a robe or something to put on, please?” He turned to her and felt humbled. He motioned to a chest sitting at the foot of the bed. “There, find yourself something to wear.” “Thank you, my lord.” 22

He glanced at her rising from the bed and padding to the chest. An eyebrow rose. Her use of “my lord” was unexpected. His heart warmed. As she picked out a tunic of dark brown and slipped it over her head, he moaned. Her full breasts lifted as she raised her arms, and he remembered the taste of their taut nipples against his tongue. She then chose a cream and tan striped robe and put it on. He poured more water into the goblet and offered it to her. She took it with a gentle, “Thank you.” Her hair, once elegantly styled upon her head now tumbled down into wild waves of gold. She threaded her fingers through her hair and worked loose the stray pins left behind. “There is a brush you may use over there,” he said indicating his toilette located near a mirror he used to trim his beard. “Thank you, my lord.” There it was again. The sound of her voice was sweet and honest. She picked up his brush, gazed at herself in the mirror, and began to brush her hair. He stood and watched her draw the brush slowly down the length of her blonde hair, and his cock hardened. What was it about this English woman that made him walk about in a constant state of readiness? Not even his ride on Abu had diverted his thoughts from his tempting blonde captive. He moved behind her and was hypnotized by the simple act of her stroking her hair. He reached out and touched her hair, feeling the softness between his fingertips. She stopped and placed the brush back near the mirror. He stepped closer and the fresh scent of lilies of the valley filled his nostrils. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he gazed over her shoulder to watch her reflection in the mirror. Their eyes met and without a word, he leaned towards her and kissed her cheek. She inhaled sharply, and he moved closer, his erection rubbing against her backside. Christine nearly came undone. She wanted to resist, but he was too appealing, too sexy…too seductive. His voice wrapped about her and caressed her like an invisible hand stroking her skin. His breath, hot and spicy, tickled the skin by her ear. 23

“I will not force you into my bed again tonight.” She shivered. He inhaled and then said in a low husky voice, “If you want me, you must invite me.” “But…” She was confused. He viewed her as his slave, one who had no will of her own. Why the change? “Do you want me moving within you, little rose? Do you burn for my touch?” He began to stroke her arms, his hands finding bare skin beneath the voluminous robe. “I want you writhing in need for me to fill you.” She closed her eyes and silently prayed for strength. “Let me taste your juices.” His lips grazed her earlobe and he flicked his tongue over the inner curve of her ear. “I want to taste your sweet honey.” Christine leaned back into him, and rested her head upon his shoulder in surrender. It was more than she could take. As arrogant as he was, she desired him. He awakened her passion. He wanted to have sex with her. He desired her. No man desired her before. Not Edmund. Not any man. But this sheikh, her captor, tempted her at every turn, whispering promises of ecstasy as he kissed her ear and the side of her neck. He made her feel…like a desirable woman. She sighed deeply and turned in his arms. Her lips met his in a greedy kiss. He held her face between his hands and kissed her in return, hungrily, passionately. There was no doubt at the meaning of this kiss. She wanted him, and he was willing to take what she offered. Consequences be damned. She‟d worry and think upon those in the morning. Right now, this man turned up the furnace with his mere presence. His tongue delved into her mouth and speared along her tongue in a sensual dance of erotic longing. She moaned into his kiss, leaning her body into his. Even through their robes, heat built like a forge. He stoked her passion with each pass of his tongue. “Take me,” she whispered to him against his lips. “Make love to me again.” He needed no further entreaty. 24

In moments he stripped them of their tunics and robes and Zafar was lying her down on the bed. He knelt on the floor and positioned her on the edge of the bed. He hitched her legs over his shoulders and lowered his mouth to her sex. Christine screamed as his tongue swiped over her sensitive clit. She grasped his head by threading her fingers through his hair. He groaned as he licked her juices along her slit. She thrust her hips against his mouth as she quickly climbed to the edge of control. He darted his tongue into her channel and she tightened her grip in his hair. With his thumb, he drew circles over her clit, driving her higher and higher into ecstasy and he sipped of her honey. His soft beard brushed along her folds and was oddly stimulating. Then he began to suckle her nubbin with his mouth as he stroked the puckered flesh about her anus. His fingers were coated in her juices and they slid along her skin in a forbidden dance. Just when she thought she could not bear his touch teasing her little hole any longer, he pressed a finger slowly inside. She cried out as her climax erupted in tempo to his finger sliding up into her rear. Her body quaked and shook as wave after wave of spasms crashed over her body. She had no control, surrendering herself to the moment. Even as her climax calmed, he continued to lick and kiss her sex. He pulled out his finger and gently massaged the puckered skin. When he released her clit from his mouth, he gave the little organ a final kiss before moving away. He eased her legs onto the bed and helped her reposition her body on the bed. Then it occurred to her, he had not come. He climbed into the bed behind her and curled his front to her back. Placing his arm over her body, he sighed. “But…” she started. He nuzzled her hair and breathed in her scent. “You didn‟t come.” She finally blurted. “Yet I received great satisfaction in bringing you pleasure.” “But I…” 25

“Shh. Rest now, little rose. We have much time to explore each other in the future. The rest of our lives. We much get some rest this night, for tomorrow, there is much to do.” She lay still in his arms and within minutes, his breathing deepened. Strange. He had stolen her to become his sex slave, yet he only gave her pleasure in the end. Was she wrong about him being completely ruthless? Would an uncaring barbarian give pleasure only to not receive his own release in return? He tightened his arm about her and she smiled. Somehow, this seemed right. Of course, it was actually wrong, but lying next to him as he held her so tenderly felt right. And as she closed her eyes to succumb to sleep, she enjoyed the few moments of happiness in the arms of such a powerful and sexy sheikh. Surely in the morning, she‟d awake and find this had all been an elaborate dream.

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Chapter Four This was no dream. Christine awoke to an empty bed, and the noises of the camp being broken down for the trip to Zafar‟s home…wherever that was. Rising from the bed, she found a basin full of clean water and cloths for her to bathe. She quickly rinsed off her body and dried her skin. She dressed in the tunic and robe she‟d found last night along with a pair of loose pants. She slipped on her boots that she‟d worn the day before, having opted to wear them the morning of her abduction in protection from scorpions. She was very glad she had been so thoughtful. Zafar pulled back the tent flap and peered at her, then turned to men behind him and motioned them in. The mighty sheikh was dressed in white and tan and wore the indigo blue tagelmost about his head and across his face. He strode into the tent as the men packed their sheikh‟s belongings. “You must cover your head and face before going outside,” he said when he stopped before her. At the questioning cock of her head, he explained, “It will protect you from the harsh sun‟s rays. The veil over your face will keep the sand out of your mouth and nose. If we were to run into a sandstorm, you can cover your eyes as well.” She nodded. “I understand.” He reached out to her and fingered her blonde hair falling loose about her shoulders. “You must secure your hair first before I can help you with your tagelmost.” Then he handed her a few silver hairpins to use. “One of my men had bought them in Casablanca for his wife. I paid him well for them.” “Thank you. I wondered what I could use.” She turned to the mirror and whipped up her hair atop of her head. When she was finished, she looked at his reflection standing behind her. For an instant, she saw a soft tenderness edge about his eyes as he gazed upon her. When he noticed she‟d caught him, he stiffened and stepped to her with a long white cloth in his hand. He wrapped the cloth about her head covering her hair and neck, and then secured the end over her face. All that was left visible were her eyes. 27

“You look like one of us now.” “But I‟m not.” She said hesitantly. As much as she‟d enjoyed sleeping with him so near last night, this was wrong. She was a free British citizen, not a slave of a sheikh. “Remember, you must show me respect at all times. If you disobey me in front of my people, you will be punished severely. Do you understand?” She nodded, but her temper flared, and she wanted to scream at him instead. Show respect indeed. He ordered her around like some pet. The man was infuriating. One moment he was hot with lust and tenderness, and then he was cold as ice the next, ordering her about like…like a barbarian. “Follow me,” he ordered in a commanding voice and he strode to the tent flap. “It is time to go.” ***** The day passed slowly as Christine tried to get used to riding aboard a camel. The beast was smelly and downright mean. As the hours passed, its gentle rocking back and forth became painful to her back. At midday they stopped to rest, and when she‟d gotten off the camel, her legs folded beneath her. She landed in Zafar‟s arms and he laughed at her, irritating her further. Now if only it was a horse, it would be a different situation entirely. By the time night had fallen, every muscle in her body screamed with pain. She just wanted to die and put out of her misery. A temporary camp was set up by Zafar‟s men and they decided to sleep outside for the night. They did put up one small tent so Christine was even able to have some privacy and bathe with some water Zafar drew the day before. Around the campfire the caravan members, all men, gathered to talk softly in Arabic, exchanging tales and songs. “You are tired,” Zafar said from behind her. She jumped at his English, unused to hearing it all day. She nodded. “I‟m exhausted. I think I‟ve discovered muscles I never knew existed.” She gazed up at him standing over her, his powerful figure towering above her, much like the night before. Had it 28

only been a day since she‟d been taken from Casablanca? It seemed much longer. “Come,” he commanded and offered her his hand. She placed her hand in his and gasped at the warmth of his skin wrapping about her fingers. He helped her rise from the ground and led her to two palettes laid out side by side. She should say something, but was too tired to object. “Lay here. I will join you later. I have first watch.” “First watch for what?” she asked as she lowered her body to the palette. “We are in the desert raider territory. They strike with little warning, traveling by night rather than during the heat of day. Do not worry, tomorrow night we will be at my home.” “Where is your home?” “Beni Souk, a small desert province between Casablanca and Marrakesh.” He crouched down and met her eyes. He reached out a hand and pulled off her tagelmost, and her hair spilled down about her head. As he touched the soft strands, he said in a low voice, “I wish I could take you tonight. But I will let you rest. Tomorrow, you may bathe and refresh yourself. I have a private pool outside my bedchambers.” A real bath sounded like heaven. “I would like that very much.” “Sleep now. Rest. Tomorrow, we travel all day again.” She moaned when she lay on her side and rested her head upon her arms. “I hope my body can take another day. I hurt all over.” “You have been strong. Stronger than I thought. Not one word of complaint from you all day. I am pleased with you.” Her heart skipped a beat. And when he rose and walked away, she couldn‟t fight her impulse to call him back. “Za—my lord, wait.” He turned to her. “Yes?” “Won‟t you lie with me now? I…I am afraid another scorpion will come along.” It was a lie but it sounded a good excuse to call him back to her side. He chuckled and strode to the palette. “We mustn‟t have you be endangered by another scorpion.” He lowered himself to his palette behind her and spooned his body against her backside. 29

“I thought you had first watch.” “Someone else can do it. I am needed here. I‟m on scorpion duty.” She sighed in contentment when he rested an arm around her waist possessively. And as she drifted to sleep, she wondered why she ever thought of escape when this man gave her not only limitless sexual pleasure, but he was kind and caring as well. And when his black gaze roamed over her body, she sensed his heated desire—desire she invoked. Her heart was truly in danger of falling in love with the sheikh. ***** The next evening when the sun dipped behind the barren mountains in the distance, the caravan arrived in Beni Souk. When Zafar said he was to take her to his home, she wasn‟t expecting a palace. At least, it was a palace to her. They entered a stucco walled enclosure into a green, lush garden complete with a running water fountain in the center. Ferns, palms and flowers graced assorted pots arranged by height creating an inviting welcome for the desert travelers. Out of the arched doorway strode a woman wearing a black kaftan and veil upon her head. Her face was uncovered, and Christine was struck by her hard frown when the woman gazed her way. “Mother,” he greeted her. “Zafar. I‟ve been awaiting you. You are a day late.” “Yes, I know.” A beat of silence fell upon the garden. His mother continued to glare at Christine. “Who is the white woman?” “My slave,” he answered. Christine‟s heart fell. She was nothing but his slave, a possession. Why did she hope to be more? Why was she so disappointed just a hearing him say it? “She doesn‟t belong here,” his mother said coolly. “She pleases me. She stays.” His voice was firm but controlled. “Who is she?”

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I’m standing right here. Don’t talk like I don’t exist, Christine thought. Then she realized they spoke English. Why? “She is Edmund Langtry‟s widow, Christine Langtry.” “Lady Langtry,” Christine corrected. She was answered by his glare as well as his mother‟s look of disapproval. “You brought that thief‟s widow here?” His mother asked incredulously. “She probably steals as well.” “Now wait just a minute…” Christine started, unable to hold her anger any long. To accuse her of stealing within the very minute they met was just unjustified and rude. “Silence!” He grabbed Christine‟s arm and shoved her along behind him toward the house. He yelled back at his mother in Arabic. Inside, he swirled around on her. “Do not cross me again.” “I did not. She called me a thief.” “You married one.” “I didn‟t know that at the time. Wait, why am I on trial here? You are the one who kidnapped me. That is stealing.” He straightened. “I did not steal you. You were given to me. I merely collected my property.” She stepped closer, her anger bubbling over. “I am not your property.” “Yes you are.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her again through the hall covered with colorful mosaics on the floor and cream colored stucco walls lined with more potted palms and plants. At the end of the hall, he flung open a door and burst into a vast bedchamber. He shoved her onto the enormous bed covered in ruby red and amethyst silk. “Woman, you try my patience at every turn.” “And you are nothing but a barbarian.” He turned and slammed the massive wooden door closed. Then he began to fling off his robe as he strode towards her. Christine scooted back on the bed to avoid his iron grip, but he caught her ankle and slid her closer. She yelped as he landed atop of her. Anger quickly transformed into passion. She struggled against his body, but he began kissing her neck and jaw in heated need. 31

Surrendering to his touch, she wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him with a ferocious hunger. She couldn‟t get enough of his mouth upon hers. Her tongue darted with his, driven by canal need. She needed to taste him, to have him touch her, to lose herself when he filled her. She pushed him over and he rolled onto his back taking her with him. “I need you, Zafar,” she whispered against his lips. His opened his eyes and looked at her. Without a word, he kissed her again and began pulling at her robes to rid her of the barrier between their bodies. “One moment,” she said as she climbed off of him to strip away her tunic, pants, and boots. Once naked, she stood before him, his eyes reflecting lusty admiration. She leaned over and pulled off his boots and then slowly stripped away his pants. His cock stood long and thick and she wrapped her fingers about its length. She lowered her mouth to his cock and licked the bulbous head pulsing with need. She dipped her tongue into the fluid seeping from the hole upon the tip and was rewarded with a groan. When she enclosed her lips about the head and sucked, he bucked driving himself deeper into her mouth. He threaded his fingers through her hair and held her steady over his cock as she continued to suck upon his length. She opened her mouth wide and took him in as he pumped slowly into her mouth. She twirled her tongue over his cock and he continued thrusting into her mouth. Still wanting to explore this unbelievable control over Zafar, she lifted a hand and touched the sack under his cock. He yelled out in pleasure and pumped faster as she tested the weight and shape of his balls. She moaned and it was more than he could stand. He reached under her arms and lifted her up his body. In one thrust, he buried himself deep inside her. She sat upon his cock, impaled to the hilt. Christine savored the sweet agony of his size stretching her walls to accommodate. Then he urged her to move her hips with his hands. He pushed deeply into her, and she moved against him, taking him even deeper as he thrust upwards. 32

He reached up to her breasts and cupped them in his palms. He pinched her nipples and she continued to pump over him, searching for that point of pleasurable surrender. She leaned backwards, balancing her hands on the bed near his knees. “Oh God,” she panted as she rhythmically moved against him, driving him deeper still into her heat. Finally, he yelled in triumph as he came, his seed surging into her with each spasm. His seed, hot and creamy, filled her to the brink. Then he called out her name at the height of his climax. “Christine!” Stars burst behind her eyelids as she shattered and rode him into completion. She didn‟t want to moment to end. She wanted him buried inside of her, to have his cock pulse and move within, driving her insane into orgasm over and over again. As she came down from the pinnacle of their lovemaking, she leaned over him, her face inches above his. He opened his eyes and then cupped her face with his hand and then ran a thumb over her bottom lip. For a moment, she thought he saw a flash of tender emotion across his face. But in a blink of an eye, it was gone. Her heart ached. She wasn‟t in danger of losing her heart. He had already stolen that. Somewhere along the past few days, she had lost her heart to the sheikh.

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Chapter Five After a night of making love in his bathing pool and then in bed once again, Christine was sore but satisfied. However, when she awoke the next morning, Zafar was gone. However, he did not leave without leaving her shell pink kaftan with a matching face veil and head cloth made of sheer pink chiffon and adorned with colored beads. She hurried with her toilette before dressing. Just as she adjusted the veil across her face, Zafar‟s mother entered the room without knocking. Christine was about to argue, but the frown the woman wore was grim. In her hands she carried a light tan colored cloth. “What do you want?” Christine asked as the woman peered at her with disapproving eyes. “My son has left.” “What?” Why would he leave without saying anything? “Where did he go?” “That is none of your concern.” She reached out and ripped the delicate veil from her face. Christine yelped, slapping the woman‟s hands away. “You have no right to wear such fine garments,” the woman said. “Remove your clothes at once and put this on.” She tossed a threadbare tunic and pants at her. “I will change…when you leave me.” “You will do as you are ordered, slave. Now, strip.” The woman was unmoving as she glared at Christine. She was not moving to leave. Christine proceeded to take off the pretty kaftan and put on the linen tunic and pants. The woman‟s eyes were hard as they watched her change. Why did she want her to change? “Now, you will follow me,” his mother ordered. “Where are you taking me?” The woman said nothing, and Christine had little choice but to follow. Zafar was gone, and Christine was left under the care of his mother. They walked down the hall and then outside through the entry courtyard. There awaited a man dressed in a blue and white striped abaya and a tagelmost. 34

Zafar‟s mother spoke with the man in Arabic for a few moments, then she turned to Christine. “You will go with this man to Marrakesh.” “What? Why? Does Zafar know about this?” The woman slapped Christine across the face. “You are not to question, girl. However, if you must know, you are going to Marrakesh to be sold at auction.” Christine looked at the man waiting to escort her, then back to Zafar‟s mother. “This must be a mistake.” The woman took a step closer. “No mistake. You are no longer of use to my son. He has tired of you. Even now he is meeting with his future bride, the daughter of Sheikh Yusef bin Tariq.” This woman meant to sell her into slavery! Being Zafar‟s lover was one thing, being sold to a haram was completely different! “I won‟t go. I do not think Zafar has agreed to this.” “You will go if Kassim has to drag you through the sand. I will not have the widow of that horse thief, Edmund Langtry, in my house. His name brings dishonor upon is all.” “How do you know of Edmund?” Christine asked suspiciously. The woman stepped closer, anger radiating from her every pore. “He stole from my son. Thievery here is punishable by death. Your husband got what he deserved.” Christine gasped in horror. “You know who killed him.” The woman‟s smile twisted with hatred. Christine realized that Zafar‟s mother had ordered Edmund‟s murder. She needn‟t directly admit to the deed. From her expression, her pride in the act was clear. Christine glanced at Kassim. He was probably was the assassin. This was a ruse! They had no intention of selling her. Kassim was probably there to take her into the desert to be killed. In an instant of decision, Christine bolted out of the courtyard into the dusty street of Beni Souk. Kassim ran after her, and Christine could hear Zafar‟s mother screaming in Arabic from behind. Christine dodged into an alley and dashed between buildings, trying to lose her pursuer. Down several alleys and out into the crowd, she hoped to lose him. However, peering back, Kassim continued to chase her. She ducked into a store and hid under a table mounted with veils and abayas in every color of the rainbow. She 35

held her breath when Kassim paused in front of the table in his run, then headed off out into the street. She exhaled the breath she held and continued to hide under the table. She spotted a plain cream colored tagelmost and snagged it, and then began to wind it about her head. She secured the end across her face, concealing her white skin from exposing her true identity to the people mulling about in the marketplace. Surely her blonde hair and pale complexion would set her apart too much to escape. Zafar had told her as much when they first met. She had to escape. Zafar was gone and his mother wanted revenge. She wanted Christine dead. Edmund was murdered, and now it was Christine‟s turn. Determined to escape, Christine sat quietly under the table, hidden from the world. At least for the moment. She had to find a way to get back to Casablanca. Perhaps she could get to Marrakesh and then find transportation back to her hotel. From there she would jump on the first plane home. Zafar. Her heart ached to see him once more, to touch his face, to kiss his lips one lat time. She loved him with all her heart, and wished she could stay to look upon him, even at a distance. Tears burned her eyes and she quickly wiped them away. She would live with the memory of the greatest nights of her life when she was the love slave to a mighty, handsome sheikh. Huddling her legs close to her body, she waited in silence. When night fell upon Beni Souk, she would emerge and find a truck to stowaway upon. She would get out of this alive. ***** Zafar arrived in Beni Souk at nightfall after meeting with Sheik Yusef to call off the marriage with his daughter. The union had been planned for months, and the arrangements were finalized before his trip to capture Edmund Langtry in his thievery. Everything changed when only weeks before he believed his heart untouchable. Before he met his little English rose, Christine. Who would have ever thought Edmund Langtry had such a delectable wife? Anxious to hold her in his arms, Zafar strode into his home and practically ran to his bedchamber. When he burst into the room, he 36

found her not there. He stepped out to the bathing pool—no Christine. “She‟s gone.” His mother strode out to the private courtyard. “Where did she go?” She shrugged. “I sent Kassim out in search of her, but he could not find her. She escaped.” Anger welled inside of him. “How could she leave?” “You need not worry. You do not need her. She is trouble. You have your upcoming marriage to Yasmin to think upon.” “No. I cancelled the arrangement today.” “What?” “I paid her father a compensation sum for his trouble. Yasmin will marry another.” “You can ride back and tell him it was mistake.” She reached out to his arm and shook it as she spoke. “You must marry Yasmin!” “I will marry none but Christine.” “Let her go, my son. A white woman has no place here.” He paused and gazed upon his aging mother. She‟d harbored hatred for the English since the death of his father. He blamed the man who pulled the trigger, she blamed every Englishman who stepped foot in her country. Looking out into the night, the stars shining brightly in the black sky, he wondered if letting Christine go was for the best. He‟d rather see her safely to Casablanca than fearing she‟d be harmed by some desert raider. “You know I am right. She has her people. You have yours. You belong here. She does not.” She reached out and laid a comforting hand upon his arm. “Let her go back to her country.” He felt empty. His heart ached and his stomach clenched in pain. He‟d lost her. “I should have tied her to my bed,” he muttered as he turned and stormed out of his bedchamber. He would find her and when he found her, coming with him would be her choice. He would leave it up to her. If she chose to leave for England, he would make sure she‟d get home safely. ***** 37

Christine unfolded her stiff limbs from the back of the truck she caught to Casablanca. The bumping and tumbling in the back bruised her backside, and her legs protested when she finally moved. Pain shot through her legs with pin-pricking sharpness. She crawled out of her hiding place and out of the truck, her feet striking the ground for the first time in two days. She stumbled and held onto the back of the truck to steady her weak limbs. Not wanting to linger, she moved carefully from the truck and out into the street. Making her way to her hotel, she prayed the staff would recognize her. Inside the lobby of Hotel Casablanca, she walked towards the front desk. A bellboy grabbed her by the arm and began yelling at her in Arabic. “Wait!” she yelled, pulling away her tagelmost, revealing her golden hair and pale skin. He immediately released her arm and bowed, muttering apologies in broken English. “Lady Langtry!” the hotel manager rushed out to greet her. “You have returned! Praise Allah!” So she was missed. “Please, it has been a difficult time. Arrange my passage back to England immediately. In the meantime, I want a bath brought to my room and a tray. I‟m famished.” “Yes, yes, of course!” The manager, an Arab man dressed in an English suit, clapped his hands to the bellboy and ordered her bath and food. Within thirty minutes, Christine was beginning to feel human again. Sitting in the warm brass tub filled with warm sudsy water, she scrubbed her skin until it glowed pink. She washed her hair once and repeated just to be sure all the sand was gone. If only it was so easy to wash away the memory of Zafar loving her. She squeezed her eyes shut at the thought of their last night together. After she‟d surprised herself in feasting upon his magnificent cock and rode him to her completion, he‟d taken her out to his private pool. There he cared for her gently. He‟d washed her hair and then her skin, passing the cloth over her sensitive spots with tenderness and adoration. She hadn‟t felt like a slave to his passion, she was the lover, the cherished companion. 38

They made love in the pool as he slid up into her as she straddled his cock. She wrapped her legs about his hips and he held her securely with his hands under her buttocks. The water swirled about them, splashing out onto the surrounding marble, but they did not care. She was lost, surrendering to the sensuous feel of him filling her tight sheath. She‟d kissed him hungrily, wanting to taste him, imprint this man upon her senses as well as in her memory. And now as Christine lay back in the tub, her breasts tingled with need for his touch, her clit ached for his kiss, and her channel yearned for his cock stuffed inside. How could she leave Morocco? How could she turn her back on the man who awakened her sleeping passions? Then someone beat on the door to her room. Startled, she grabbed a towel and covered herself in the tub. “Christine, open this door immediately!” Zafar yelled to her. She gasped. “I‟m in the bath! Go away!” “Like hell I will.” Then the door burst open, the lock broken away from the doorjamb, and there stood Zafar. He slammed the door behind him but it bounced closed. “What the hell do you think you are doing?” he demanded, storming into the room. “Taking a bath,” she replied, her eyes gazing up at the man she never thought she‟d see again. His eyes softened as his gaze roamed over her body. Her towel did little to hide her nakedness as it clung to her skin. Her pert nipples pointed against the fabric, inviting his touch. “I can see that.” He stood over her, the desert lord looking over his property. “Why did you leave?” he finally asked softly. “Because…” She hesitated. “Speak, woman,” his tone impatient. Her anger rose. “Because your mother was about to send me out into the desert with her assassin.” “What? That‟s ridiculous.” A frown marred his handsome face. “She ordered me from the room to go with a man who was to take me to Marrakesh. She said he was to sell me. But then she practically 39

admitted she‟d ordered Edmund‟s death…and the same fate awaited me too.” “I do not believe this. Lies.” “Think about it, Zafar. You, yourself told me that Edmund should had paid with his life for stealing. Your mother made sure he did.” Just then the hotel manager knocked on the broken door along with the bellboy and a maid. “Lady Langtry, a disturbance was reported…” The manager paused entering when he saw Zafar. “My pardon, my lord. Is there trouble here?” He turned to her, and his face was hard, his mouth in a grim line. “No trouble.” His eyes locked with hers. “Take the horses. They are yours.” Then he inhaled deeply and added, “Go back to England.” And with that, he turned and strode to the door and shoved past the manager. As the hotel manager softly closed the door as best as he could, Christine sank into the cooling water and her tears rolled down her face unchecked. She had lost him forever.

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Chapter Six Two years later Christine gazed out over the green expanse of the pasture several mares consorted with their new foals. The misty English morning was like any other, and she loved the scent of fresh dew coating the grass. She strode out to the fence and breathed in the clean air. She called to the horses and several trotted over to her for her to stroke their necks and whisper words of tenderness. “Christine!” called Lord Chester Brantley, her frequent male caller. Chester was everything a British viscount should be—rich, handsome and looking for a wife. With his sandy brown hair and lightly tanned skin, he captured many ladies attention, but he had eyes only for Christine. But she could not be persuaded into anything more than friendship. “Chester,” she called back to him, a smile upon her face. She wished she could accept his proposals of marriage, but each time, she refused. He rode up on a magnificent black Arabian she‟d sold him months before. “I‟ve come to invite you on a picnic today.” He reigned in his mount and then slid to the ground. “I would love to, Chester.” “You must bring your son along as well. It is hosted by Lord and Lady Chatterley, and they will be bringing their daughter, Clarice as well. You can leave Nicholas with their nanny while we take a short ride together.” “That sounds wonderful. Who else will be there?” “I don‟t know, a few friends of the Chatterley‟s.” “Okay, as long as you don‟t mind Nicholas coming. He is getting to be very much the rascal these days.” Nicholas was her light, her purpose to go on. When she gazed upon her son, she saw the man she left behind. Despite Nicholas‟s pale skin, he looked like Zafar sharing his raven black hair and onyx eyes. Many assumed this was Edmund‟s son, and Christine never 41

disputed it. After all, Nicholas was a viscount, Lord Nicholas Langtry, and the estate, Langtry Manor, was to be passed to him. That afternoon Chester had arrived in his car for her and Nicholas. Just as they were about to leave for the picnic, a motorcade of black automobiles drove into site, and headed straight for the main house. “Who are they?” Chester mused aloud. “I have no idea.” She stood on the steps to the porch. Nicholas released her hand and began playing with his stuffed horse she‟d sewn for him. He put it in his mouth and chewed. She glanced back up at the approaching cars and as they pulled behind Chester‟s car, she felt faint. Then she whispered the name of the man that haunted her days and nights. “Zafar.” She whispered as she fought to steady her legs. He climbed from one of the cars, his black eyes boring into her with heated longing. “Who?” Chester questioned. Dressed in a dark gray frock coat and pants, black shoes, and a white high collar shirt with a neat black tie, Zafar was the image of British class and wealth, except for his dark looks and neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. “Lady Christine Langtry,” he said with an Arabic accent. His voice sent shivers across her skin and her body instantly reacted with readiness. The place between her thighs began to throb. “Shiekh Zafar bin Hassan. You honor us with your unexpected visit.” She tried to keep her voice from wavering. His gaze slid from her to Nicholas playing behind her legs on the step. Realization dawned and his eyes shot back to hers. “I believe we have something to discuss.” She sharply inhaled and bent down to Nicholas, picking him up into her arms. The little boy wrapped his arms about her neck lovingly. “Please, come inside, my lord.” Then to Chester she said, “Please inform Lord and Lady Chatterley that I regret to miss their picnic.” “Christine, what is going on? Who is this man to you?” Her eyes slid back to the handsome Arab who had stolen her heart so long ago. “He‟s a former business associate of my husband‟s.” 42

***** “He‟s mine, isn‟t he?” Zafar asked once he was alone with her. She‟d arranged the boy on the floor with several wooden toys. He watched in wonder. He had a son. “Yes,” she said flatly. “But no one knows he had a father other than Edmund.” “Edmund?” He asked in a heated tone. “How could you think to pass off my son as anyone else‟s?” “You left me. I was alone. I came back to England and then discovered I was pregnant. Everyone assumed it was Edmund‟s. When Nicholas was born, no one questioned. Edmund had black hair too.” Zafar strode over to the boy who innocently handed him a wooden camel covered in drool. Zafar took the toy and smiled. “He has my eyes,” he finally said proudly. “Yes…I know.” She moved to stand at his side. “He is a viscount and shall inherit this estate when he comes of age.” “He is the son of a sheikh,” he said straightening to face her. “He will come back to Morocco with me.” “Now look here, you…you barbarian. You can‟t just waltz in here and take my son.” “He‟s my son too,” he said. “You will not take him from me. Never. I will fight you to the death if I have to.” He raised a hand to her face and touched her cheek. The contact burned her, and she leaned into his touch. “I‟ve missed you, my little English rose.” “You ordered me to leave you,” she said, her strength faltering. “I didn‟t want you to go.” “You were to marry another.” He pulled her into his arms and she melted into his embrace. “I have not married anyone.” He stroked her hair falling down her back in loose waves. “I couldn‟t get you out of my mind.” “What of your mother?” she asked pushing against him, unwilling to let her senses be completely taken over by his sensual presence. 43

She had to resist him, she needed answers before they could continue. He sighed and released her. She strode to the fireplace and stared down at the pile of logs within, ready to be lit. “My mother confessed her sins upon her deathbed. She died two weeks ago. I came here as soon as I learned the truth.” He moved across the room and stood behind her. Laying his hands upon her shoulders, he continued. “I am sorry for hurting you. I‟m sorry for doubting your words. My mother was angry at all Englishmen who invaded her country. Her husband was killed by an Englishman, and she blamed all for his death.” “I understand her anger, but you wouldn‟t believe me. How can I trust you will believe me ever again?” “I came here to ask forgiveness…and for a second chance.” He paused then said, “I love you, Christine.” She turned and gazed up at his face. “You love me?” “Yes, by Allah, I do. And I want you to be my wife.” “And Nicholas?” “I love him too. He is my son. He will be a man of power and authority. He will be the leader of his people.” “And a British viscount too.” He smiled. “Indeed. He will have the best of both our worlds.” “A British education.” She added with a smile. “And an Arab love for horses.” “He gets that from me already.” “Oh? I‟ve never seen you ride a horse before.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers. “I‟ve only experienced you riding me.” She wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed his lips lightly. “I can refresh your memory.” He growled. “The sooner, the better.” ***** After taking Nicholas to the nursery for his nap, Christine and Zafar slipped into her bedroom and bolted the door. “I‟m going to fuck you all night long,” he said with a smile. 44

Her heart thumped faster. “Promises, promises,” she teased. She was wet already for him. “A challenge?” he laughed. “Yes.” She began to strip away her blouse revealing her brassiere. Unhooking the garment, she let it fall away from her body. Her nipples hardened into tight points and she reached up and pinched them between her fingers. “Think you are up to an all night romp?” He stripped away his frock coat and vest. “I think I am going to fuck you until you can‟t stand.” “If I can‟t stand, I‟ll have to stay in bed.” He chuckled as he peeled away his shirt and then his pants. “That‟s the idea.” Christine moved into his arms, savoring the feel of her naked flesh against him. His skin was hot, burning against her. She wanted to lose herself in the feel of him against her. It had been too long since she‟d held him in her arms. She met his lips, hot and hungry for his loving. She needed to feel the heat, to experience the joy of being alive, losing herself within his arms. Her one love had come for her, to claim her as his own. “Zafar,” she said his name, a plea for him to take her. “I need to make love to you. Now,” he whispered against her lips. Her answering moan was engulfed by his mouth, eager to taste her, and she arched to meet his demanding touch, surrendering to his masterful caresses. Her hands mapped his body, each rippling muscle and pert nipple, worshiping his toned perfection. How she loved this man. He backed her into bed, and she lay down upon the downy softness. He quickly covered her with his hard body. With him atop of her, she thought she‟d shatter immediately. She wanted more, quicker. “I need,” she panted as he flipped her over to straddle his hips. “Show me…” he whispered as his hands gripped her thighs. “Ride me.” Without further invitation, she slid onto his cock, and breathed a sigh. Her juices coated his length as he filled her so fully, his size a perfect fit into her sheath. “This feels wonderful,” she moaned as she 45

moved her hips, taking him deeper within. The sounds of wet sex and heavy breathing filled the room. The scent of her honey filled her nostrils and it was oddly arousing. He bucked beneath her, urging her to move faster. Then, he placed a thumb at her crotch, searching for her clit. “You… oh…don‟t have to … oh yes … yes, do that,” she panted as she rode his erection, plunging him further to the center of her core. He needn‟t touch her nubbin to send her higher. “I want to give you pleasure,” he said in husky voice. “You do,” she whimpered. He thrust up into her and she screamed, climax just on the horizon, barely out of reach. “You were meant for me.” Christine balanced on her knees and slammed down on his cock, making him toss his head back in apparent ecstasy. She paused in her thrusts, prolonging her orgasm and wiggled her ass, moving him side to side within her. She giggled as she slowed her movements, relishing his length and width inserted into her body. She reached behind her and fingered his balls. “Tell me you love me,” she said as she massaged his sacs. “I love you. You know that by now.” “I like hearing it.” She worked her hips over his cock, lost to the need to reach for completion. It was just out of reach, and she rode him harder. He was a man of authority and strength, but like this, he gave her control. He continued to stroke her clit as she grasped his balls in her hands. His touch sent her over the edge. It was glorious. She saw stars behind her eyelids as she climaxed about his length, squeezing him into her body deeper still. She screamed as her body rode the spasms of rapture, sensations only this man could ever invoke. Christine arched her back, drawing out her own orgasm as he found his release and pumped his seed into her. Hot semen filled her channel, and her heart lurched at the beauty of her reunion with her lover. As her body calmed, she laid next him, and he held her tenderly. “I‟ll make you the most cherish of wives,” he said. “What do you mean by that?” she asked, her concern rising. 46

“You will want for nothing. I will provide for you anything you desire.” “For a moment I thought you meant I would be a favored wife in a haram.” He chuckled. “Of course not. One wife is all I need.” She sighed in relief and then laid her head upon his chest and threaded her fingers through the hair upon his chest. “You ask me what I want.” “Yes. Anything.” He kissed the top of her head. “Name it, my love.” “I want to just be able to love you. Forever.” He flipped her over onto her back and pushed his cock through her slick folds. She whimpered in delight. He‟d just come only moments ago, and already, he was ready for more. He was amazing…a true powerful sheikh, her desert lord. With one swift thrust, he filled her, stretching her vaginal walls to accommodate. “Oh Zafar…” He held her hips secure as he eased in, then out, slow and sure. The sensation of each inch sliding along her wet walls drove her higher into ecstasy. With leisurely thrusts he made love to her, and she climbed up the mountain of pleasure with him guiding her along the way. He panted, picking up the pace. “Love me, Zafar,” she cried to him as he plunged deeper into her core. “I love you!” He spilled his hot essence into her body, and she milked him of each drop as she tumbled over the edge with him. And when she lay in the arms of her desert lover, she breathed a contented sigh. Before sleep overtook her, she heard him promise, “I promise, I will love you, little rose. Always and forever.” The End

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