CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE — A SERIALIZED NOVEL
Pride and Audacity — Part 12
A stranger — a secret agreement — a changed destiny
“He was the last man on earth she wanted, but she was the only woman on earth he’d have…From the skyscrapers of New York City to the ancient sands of Ahalamin, two untamed hearts war for supremacy…”
The woman in his arms ceased to struggle, her panting breath stroking his cheek and neck. Dampness trickled across his lip and touched his tongue, leaving a taste of salty tears that penetrated his passion drenched brain. He lifted his head little by little. She stared at him through wide glistening eyes. He could see all the way to her soul and her fear gutted him.
He shuddered in revulsion. The scene sickened him…damn his temper. How could he subjugate and force her compliance? With her tiny wrists imprisoned above her head, he had earned the label which she’d thrown at him earlier, ‘beast’. He would take his whip to any man who so abused a woman. She could not know, but the fear in her eyes lashed him deeper than the bite of any whip.
She waited, trembling and speechless. Where did he go from here? He was sure, being accustomed to wielding authority herself, she would interpret any weakening on his part as a victory. For the sake of their future, he dare not relent until she accepted the fact she was his wife and, therefore, subject to his will.
He removed his legs from between hers and lowered her to a standing position, easing, but not relinquishing the grip he held on her suspended wrists. Sliding his other hand from her hair, he lifted her chin with slow, gentle pressure. “Look at me, Victoria.”
She raised her tear-stained and bewilderment eyes, now shadowed and shuttered against him.
He softened his voice. “Victoria. You are, at this moment, two things by right of this marriage: the Royal Princess of Ahalamin and my wife. Our relationship balances on an unchangeable truth. One of us is born to complement and nurture, the other to lead and protect. The ageless reality is this. You can never match my strength or my will. Submit — and I will not insist. Yield — and I will not take. In this way, we will achieve a harmonious union which will bring us both contentment and ease.”
He released her hands. Taking a step back took the last of his resolve. She followed his movements, her expression revealing a wariness about what he might do next as her eyes fluttered in surrender and lowered.
She stood quiet and still, allowing his touch as he brushed a swath of curls from her face. He dried the last remnant of a tear from her cheek with the back of his hand. “I am going to the outer lounge to take care of some matters which need my attention. There is a fully equipped bath through the archway. No one will disturb your privacy. Relax and refresh yourself. When you have finished, I will have food prepared. Then we will talk.”
Cupping her face in his hands, he caressed her lips with his thumbs. She leaned ever so slightly against their pressure. A fact he knew would mortify her if she were aware of it. He lowered his hands and turned toward the door before he proved himself a liar as well as a beast.
His stride took him to his target, the lounge bar. He poured and downed two glasses of wine in quick succession and refilled the glass a third time. Alcohol was not a part of his cultural heritage, but he was the product of two nationalities. His mother was French. Although he thought of himself as a man of the Middle East, sometimes his mother’s influence surfaced.
His grandfather had worked for one of the most celebrated wineries in France where his mother grew up loving the vineyards and wines. Rashid’s father had permitted, in the privacy of her own apartments, to indulge that part of her culture. Whether or not his father knew his wife, on occasion, encouraged her son to taste the new vintages she imported, Rashid did not know. But he thought the prospect highly unlikely.
He stood, head down, hands braced on the cabinet, and listened to the hum of the jet engines. The steady, rhythmic vibration soothed the tension in his muscles. His two bodyguards were not in sight. They probably thought it a good idea to find some respite in sleep. Securing his glass, he crossed the lounge and took the seat opposite Califar. Although his friend’s eyes were closed, Rashid knew he was not asleep. He was more likely thanking Heaven for the blessed silence, especially after Victoria’s door-piercing scream.
For sure, neither he nor Califar had ever lived such a day. Lines had been crossed, customs shattered, and boundaries tested in unthinkable ways. As a man, he had come up short. He swirled the dark red liquid in his glass and then savored the last swallow, letting its warmth clear away the knot in his throat, if not the guilt eating at his conscience.
A deep, contemplative sigh narrowed his attention on Califar. In his regent’s eyes lurked an unspoken question. Deciding someone ought to have some peace of mind, Rashid answered it. “The princess is shaken, but unharmed. My honor is…”
“I never, for one moment, doubted your honor, Rashid.” Califar quickly injected.
Rashid nodded. “I have never set for myself a more difficult test. I acquired what I set out to possess. However, what I possess is even now plotting how best to drown me in the ocean below. A fact which will amuse you I’m sure.”
Rashid could not believe his ears. Unrestrained laughter burst forth from Califar’s throat. Rashid’s quick resentment surrendered to the contagious mirth and he joined his friend in a cleansing emotion older than time. When there was nowhere else to go, laughter was a healing escape.
Afterward, Califar tactfully retreated into silence, affording Rashid the privacy he needed to focus on his next course of action. He studied the empty glass in his hand and attempted to envision the path he must walk.
The deficit of information he labored under was painfully clear. He knew more about his enemies than he did his own wife. She would not assist him in this area, this he was sure of. He would need to proceed as men had been doing since Adam’s creation. He would be patient, and patience would reveal what Victoria would not. Soon, he would know the heart and soul of this woman, and in the knowing, he would find the key to her surrender.
Rashid returned his glass to the bar and turned toward his compartment. As he passed by Califar’s chair, he paused. Placing his hand on the man’s shoulder, he searched for the right words — none came.
Califar spoke in a raspy voice. “Good night, Rashid.”
Rashid opened the door gently so as not to alarm Victoria a second time. His pounding heart and her slumberous breathing were the only two sounds in the room. He leaned back against the closed door and studied the sleeping princess. She had bathed and the smell of his shower gel hung in the air. Without the added color of cosmetics, her soft, ivory skin appeared paler than he remembered. A glorious cascade of honey gold hair draped around her shoulders and kissed the side of her cheek. Her fragile beauty ensnared him, rekindling the banked fires of desire and mocking his control.
He forced his eyes away from the temptation in his bed and scanned the whole room. The nightgown chosen with much anticipation lay on the floor in tatters, Victoria having covered every inch of herself with one of his own bathrobes instead.
He smiled as he imagined her dislike for the round bed. Since there were no corners to hide in, she had positioned herself in the middle with every available pillow surrounding her like a barricade. She lay with her upper body draped on one side, her fingers wrapped around a bottle of air freshener, the weapon of choice, no doubt.
A grin softened his mouth at the knowledge that his tenacious wife had not intended to fall asleep while on guard. He slipped the canister from her fingers. One curl of damp golden hair slid down to lay on her bottom lip, which showed the smallest hint of a pout. Tiny freckles sprinkled the bridge of her nose and topaz tipped lashes rested gently on her cheek.
Curled in the circular barrier of pillows, she looked more like a kitten than a woman. He’d thought her small before, but now, she seemed almost childlike. A fact which did nothing to ease his conscience since other parts of his body ached to know this woman-child in his bed.
She tugged one of the pillows tighter and whimpered. For the first time, he tried to think about the day’s events from her viewpoint. Since he had never considered his wife’s viewpoint could be any other than his own, the exercise was fruitless. Wasn’t this the natural order of things between husband and wife…
A woman’s place was to accept the arrangements made by her father for her future, especially in the choice of a husband. Did she not understand, as her husband, he was honor-bound to protect and care for her? If necessary, sacrificing his life to do so? Under such circumstances, did a man not have the right to expect his wife’s loyal-love and submission? His conscience began to clear as he answered the question in his own mind.
What belonged to him lay just inches away, his to take by every law of man and nature. As much as he wanted to kiss her into senseless surrender, the moment wasn’t right. Her need for rest came before his need for her. His body clenched in protest. Bending down, he lightly whispered against her cheek, “soon.”
He returned to the lounge and took the chair opposite Califar who now slept soundly. Exhaling from the deepest part of his lungs, Rashid forced his thoughts to choose a path more conducive to relaxation. He anticipated the familiar elements of home, the heat of its days, and the cool of its nights. The constancy of the sun and sand always counterbalanced his impatient nature. He peered into the darkness outside the small window at his side, gave his mind over to a calm nothingness, and slept.
Victoria stretched her cramped legs and enjoyed the smooth slide of the satin coverlet along her calf and thigh. She pushed away from the pillow half-covering her face and then untangled the one from between her legs. She didn’t remember having so many pillows in her bed.
Reality hit like the forceful spray of a morning shower. She listened for evidence that she wasn’t alone and slid one foot across the bed to test for intruders. Blissful relief cleared her lungs of the breath she’d been holding.
Raising her head, she caught sight of the nightgown she’d torn to shreds and dumped on the floor the night before laying neatly folded on the side table.
Apparently, he could act like a civilized human being, after all, an aspect of his nature she could use to her advantage. Unless she changed her strategy, though, she’d never survive another encounter like the night before. Today, she’d use her wits, not her temper. Looking around for a clothing option, she spotted a built-in wardrobe in the far corner. To get there she’d have to pass the door. He’d said it wouldn’t be locked. Why not see if he were in the lounge? If she were quiet, no one would notice.
She scooted through the pillows, slipped off the edge of the bed, and crept across the polished wood flooring in her bare feet. The door handle turned and released. Bracing her hand against the jam, she opened a small crack.
Rashid and Califar were little more than fifteen feet away. She couldn’t see Califar’s face, but Rashid’s was in full view. Relaxed in sleep, he didn’t look as threatening. In fact, he was possibly the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. His darkened jawline, chiseled in perfection and stubbornly set, made him look like the roguish heroes on the covers of Jessica’s favorite romance novels. His head, cocked at what could only be an uncomfortable angle, was going to cause him some discomfort when he woke. Hopefully, he was not a grumpy morning person, the kind who beat their wives before breakfast.
Her legs started to tremble. She eased the door shut and slid down its surface to the floor. He wasn’t a figment of her imagination or a product of a bad dream. He was a man like none she’d ever encountered — big, bullheaded, and closed to any avenue of normal reasoning. His unconscionable acts were criminal, outrageous, and totally beyond her realm of understanding.
Those concerns were forgotten as the plane tilted to the right. And if she could rely on her ravaged senses, her air-borne prison dropped several feet in altitude as well. The pilot was setting up his landing approach.
She made her way toward the wardrobe and, since there was one choice of style, chose one of the many caftans inside. In different circumstances, she would have admired the silken softness and shimmer of the dusty rose colored fabric. Now, the garment was protection and nothing more.
After covering herself in its folds, she crawled back into the middle of the bed and reformed her pillow wall. She needed to think. There must be a way to get out of this. She possessed a life, a career, a family. Damnation! Her children! How could she not have thought about her children? They weren’t expecting her back in three weeks. Nothing would stop her from being there. She could do this. Three simple steps: keep calm, plan, and execute. A spark of pure vengeance tickled her imagination. Chiding herself for her lack of focus, she reiterated in her mind: execute the plan…not the man.
To be continued…