The Royal House of Karedes: The Desert Throne. Annie West
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The motorcade moved swiftly out of the city, heading northeast along the coast. But with Jasmine sitting against the opposite window, doing her level best not to touch him, every mile seemed to stretch out to eternity.
He should have listened to Akmal Al’Sayr, he thought grimly. His vizier had tried to convince him to use one of his royal helicopters or planes currently shuttling foreign dignitaries to Qusay, rather than waste time traveling by car. Now Kareef wished he’d taken that advice. Coddling diplomats suddenly seemed a much lower priority than getting Jasmine into his bed.
Kareef glanced at her. She refused to look in his direction, continuing instead to stare stonily out the darkly tinted window. Behind her, he could see the bright turquoise sea shining beyond the smooth, modern highway.
Neither of them moved, but tension hummed between them.
He wanted her. Wanted to take her right here and now in the backseat of this limousine. But was that the private, discreet affair he wanted? Tossing her like a whore in the backseat of a Rolls-Royce, with bodyguards surely able to guess what went on behind darkened windows?
Kareef cursed beneath his breath. He would just have to wait.
But as they approached a fork in the road, he suddenly leaned forward.
“Turn here,” he ordered.
“Sire?” His chauffeur looked back in surprise.
“Take the old desert road,” he commanded in a voice that did not brook opposition. As his bodyguard communicated the order over a walkie-talkie to the SUV in front of the motorcade, his chauffeur switched lanes on the modern highway, heading toward the exit that would lead straight north through the sands and rock, toward the desert of Qais.
He sat back. He might have to be patient, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t get it over with as soon as possible, by taking the most direct route.
The modern highway of Qusay stretched around the circumference of the island, a new way to travel north to the principality of Qais, a harsh landscape of desert sands and cragged, desolate mountains. Only two years ago, Kareef, as Prince of Qais, had finished the highway with the new influx of money brought by his developments, including the blossoming sport of horse racing. Qais was now second only to Dubai as the emerging hotspot on the thoroughbred racing circuit.
Ironic, Kareef thought, that after personally giving up the sport, the thing he’d once loved the most in the world, he’d turned it into a thriving industry for others.
Although that wasn’t entirely true. There had once been something he’d loved even more than horse racing.
He glanced at Jasmine. Her beautiful face was wan. Dark circles were beneath her eyes, hollows beneath her cheeks.
Damn it all to hell.
Why was she trying to resist what they both wanted?
He turned back to the window. Rolling dunes sifted scattered sand onto the road, brushed by wind beneath the hot sun. The road was very old, dating to his grandfather’s time. During sandstorms this road could disappear altogether.
Disappear. As he’d tried to do thirteen years ago.
He’d wanted to die rather than face the accusation in her eyes. He’d fled into the desert, praying to be sucked beneath a grave of sand.
Instead, Umar Hajjar had found him and brought him home. Unable to die, Kareef had thrown himself into a life of sacrifice and duty. The nomadic people of the desert had eventually looked to him for leadership, turning his family’s honorary title of Prince of Qais into a real one.
Against his will, Kareef had been brutally sentenced—to live.
He rubbed the back of his tense neck, giving Jasmine a sideways glance. He would never be able to make amends to her for what he’d done.
But should he try?
He wanted her. But did that mean he had the right to take her? Should he try to do one last unselfish thing…by letting her go?
One man has had no trouble resisting me, Kareef. You.
He suppressed a harsh laugh. He, who’d shown such perfect control with women, lost all self-control around her. Prickles of heat went through his body just sitting beside her.
Any man would be attracted to Jasmine. Even if he were blind. Even if she were wrapped in veils from head to toe. Any man would seek her warmth. Her scent, a tantalizing mix of citrus and clove. Her seductive shape, with that tiny waist setting off her delectable breasts and the wide curve of her hips. The perfect backside for any man’s hands. The heartbreaking sweetness of her glance. Of her soul.
No, he would not think of her soul. He would think only of her body.
“We’re not going to stop, are we?” she suddenly whispered. Her voice sounded tortured. “We’re not going to stop on the way?”
He turned to her. Her beautiful brown eyes were shimmering with light.
“Do you wish to stop?” he asked in a low voice.
She shook her head. “I want to drive through the mountains as quickly as possible.”
“Are you afraid?”
This time, she had no bravado in her.
“Yes,” she whispered. “You know what I fear. I see it in my nightmares. Don’t you?”
Kareef’s throat closed. He gave a single unsteady nod.
Here on the old desert road, they would drive right past the riding school and the red rock mountains beyond. The cliffs. The hidden cave. The place where he hadn’t protected her, where he hadn’t protected the child neither of them had known she was carrying. Where Jasmine had nearly died of fever because he’d given the ridiculous promise not to tell after the horse-riding accident. As if love alone could save them.
He’d been helpless. Useless. He’d failed at the most basic test of any man. Jagged pain cracked his throat, making his voice husky as he said, “We will not stop.”
He saw her take a deep, grateful breath. “Thank you.”
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Long ago, they’d escaped the prying eyes of the palace at the riding school. Her friend Sera had distracted the girls’ aged chaperone so Kareef and Jasmine could have some precious time together—alone.
The remote school, surrounded by paddocks and stables, had been where Kareef felt most truly alive, the place he’d loved to race his black stallion, Razul. He’d loved to feel Jasmine’s eyes on him as he showed off for her.
“Ride with me, Jasmine,” he’d begged, adding with a grin, “You’re not afraid, are you?” And one day—she’d finally agreed.
They’d thought themselves so clever, to evade the restrictions set by her parents and find a way to be together. But in the end, fate had punished them all—even her strict but well-meaning parents whose only crime had been trying to protect Jasmine from a man who might bring destruction and shame to her loving, innocent soul and fairy-tale beauty. A man like him.
As their motorcade traveled through the desert, he stared out at the sharp light of the sun reflecting against the sand. Scattered clouds like yin and yang symbols of darkness and light moved swiftly against the bright blue sky. He wondered if a storm was coming.
Then he felt her small hand on his arm and knew the storm was already here. Inside him.
“Thank you,” Jasmine whispered again. Her fingers tightened on his arm. “Umar is a kind man, he tries to be good to me, but I did not wish to face this for the first time beside him, traveling through the desert on my wedding day.” She shook her head, lifting her luminous eyes to his. “He can’t understand. You do.”
At the light touch of her fingers, he shuddered.
If