The Desert King's Pregnant Bride

‘It’s delicious!’

‘Surprising, isn’t it?’

‘No, I didn’t mean—’

‘It’s all right. Drink up and relax. I’ll be back soon.’ He moved away and her breathing eased.

This was what she needed, to be alone to collect her thoughts and overcome these unfamiliar emotions that tonight ran so close to the surface.

She stared at the blazing fire, sipped her tea and wondered at the intensity of her reaction to Khalid. He was a stranger. A breathtakingly gorgeous one. Yet it wasn’t just his looks she responded to. It was his easy kindness, that sense of rock-solid dependability, the way he took charge and looked after her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She wasn’t used to it.

Maggie blinked. She’d forgotten what it was like to feel cared for. To lean on someone else. No one had ever taken care of her like this. Not since she was eight and she’d arrived home from school to find her mother had walked out, taking Maggie’s little sister, but not Maggie.

There’d been no warmth at home after that day. Her father hadn’t been one for creature comforts, let alone a hug or a sympathetic smile. He’d been a hard man, dour and demanding. Even in those last months as she’d nursed him he hadn’t softened.

‘Is there anything else you need?’ Khalid’s deep voice came from beside her. She hadn’t heard him return.

To her horror, the hint of concern lacing his words opened a floodgate of raw emotion. Painful emotion that ignited a terrible weakness in her. She wasn’t accustomed to sympathy.

Her lips quivered. What was wrong with her? She’d discovered Marcus’s betrayal and she’d got a soaking. It wasn’t the end of the world.

She was made of sterner stuff than this. Maggie Lewis never cried. It was one of the reasons she’d been accepted so quickly into the male realm of the horse stud.

‘No.’ The word emerged as a raw croak and she tried again. ‘No, thank you.’ She relinquished her stiff-knuckled grip on the glass as a large, tanned hand took it from her.

‘In that case let’s get your hair dry.’

Maggie opened her mouth to object, but already he’d draped a towel over her head and shoulders. Long, strong fingers massaged her scalp through the thick towelling and her demurral dissolved on her tongue.

Whorls of sensation spread from his supple hands, sensation that made the last of her resistance melt like chocolate on a hot summer day.

Her head lolled back and forward, following the easy rhythm of his hands, till she forgot what it was she objected to. Ripples of delight spread out, down her spine, across her shoulders and lower, deep inside her.

She had to stifle a sigh of regret when he lifted the towel away. It felt so good, the warmth, the company, the comfort of his presence.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the awful sensation of loss and loneliness welling inside her. The aching void of emptiness that stretched all around her.

Quickly she shook her head, hoping to dislodge the ache, the unfamiliar need. Tonight had been a shock, a blow to her self-esteem and her hopes, but she’d get over it. This curious sense of frailty was a passing thing. She’d always been strong. Always coped.

‘Don’t cry, little one.’ His voice was so low it was a mere thread of sound, weaving into her consciousness. His touch was tender as he wiped moisture from her cheeks.

Maggie kept her eyes tight shut. For the second time tonight she had tears in her eyes. The second time in fifteen years. She hadn’t cried since her mother had deserted her all those years ago. Maggie had sobbed herself sick then and hadn’t cried since. Now in one night the dam had broken. A shudder of anxiety racked her.

‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

Khalid stared into the flames, legs outstretched in a casual pose that belied his inner turmoil. Tension pulled his shoulders tight and a charged sense of expectancy weighted his limbs.

Beside him Maggie sat with her feet curled beneath her. She was close enough for him to be aware of her every move and feel her beckoning warmth.

Yet he didn’t touch her.

He fought his instinctive reaction to reach out and hold her, comfort her. He had more sense than that.

Just sitting here was a test of his willpower, and his honour. His desire to pull her into his embrace wasn’t as altruistic as it should have been. Maybe bringing her here hadn’t been wise after all.

Instead of leaping flames the picture filling his brain was Maggie Lewis, standing in his en suite, wearing nothing but lace underwear and pride. She’d been brave, beautiful and hurting, unable to hide the raw anguish in her remarkable eyes.

But it wasn’t her eyes that had riveted his attention. Her lithe body was all elegant lines, pale skin that dipped and curved in exactly the right places. His hands had itched to reach out and take the weight of her high, proud breasts, to smooth over her narrow waist to the gentle curve of her hips. Hunger had surged in him so strongly that he’d been forced to leave the room, lest he do something unforgivable.

She’d looked so perfect, so pure, he could almost have believed her untouched.

Why was he imagining his hands, dark and hard, on her pristine flesh? He’d never fantasised about taking a virgin. His experience in that area was a lifetime ago.

His mind slammed shut on the old memory. There’d been women since Shahina. Beautiful, clever, accommodating women who gave him the satisfaction his body craved. But never had his mind or his emotions been engaged. That was exactly how he wanted it. Short, easy relationships built on physical pleasure were no threat to his heart. That was how he’d lived his life since the death of his wife and it was precisely how he intended to continue.

He frowned, recognising that tonight, with Maggie Lewis, something was different. Sexual need was there, a scorching spike in his bloodstream. But something else too, more complex than physical desire. A shadow, a hint of something more. Something that stirred his emotions, as well as his libido. Something he had no wish to feel.

He dragged in a deep breath, trying not to notice the way her clean, feminine scent stirred his senses.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ So much for his determination not to get involved.

He couldn’t contain his curiosity about the intriguing woman so innocently sharing his couch.

He rubbed his jaw. He couldn’t remember sharing anything innocently with a woman since Shahina.

‘Did someone hurt you?’ He’d make it his business to find the man and bring him to account.

‘It was my fault,’ she muttered, eyes downcast.

A chill iced his veins. ‘Don’t say that.’

‘It’s true. I was the one with expectations.’

‘If some man forced himself on you after you’d changed your mind, it’s not your fault.’

In the fire-lit shadows huge eyes met his. Her hands clenched tight together.

‘No. You’ve got it all wrong.’ Her words ended on a hiccough of unsteady laughter. ‘No one forced himself on me.’ Her voice was stronger, her mouth firm. ‘I wasn’t assaulted, if that’s what you think.’

On a surge of movement she wriggled higher, squaring her slumped shoulders. Unfortunately the movement made the collar of the robe gape to reveal a sliver of pale, enticing flesh. Khalid moved restlessly and shifted his gaze. But despite the thick towelling he could easily visualise her pert breasts and smooth, silken skin.

He turned to the fire, trying to ignore the rapid thump of his pulse and the heat igniting in his loins.

‘You don’t need to worry. Untouched by the hand of man. That’s me.’ Her voice was bitter and hard.

‘Pardon?’ For a moment he was startled, remembering his fantasy of her as virginal, awaking to his caress. He realised how unlikely that was. She must be talking about tonight. He swung around, unable to resist temptation.

She looked different, more alive, more vibrant. A flush of colour tinted her cheeks and her eyes were bright.