Free The Desert Lord's Baby by Olivia Gates Page B

didn’t want her consent that way. “Say it, Carmen. For Mennah.”
    At hearing Mennah’s name issue from him like an invocation, she went still beneath him again.
    Staring at him with eyes now the color of his kingdom’s seas in a storm, she finally nodded her acquiescence, her defeat. “Zao-zao’wajtokah nafsi…”
    Triumph roared in his system, her quavering words the most coveted conquest he’d ever made. “Wa ana qabeltu zawajek.” He heard the elation in his voice, was unable to leash it in, saw her wincing at its harshness. “And I accept your marriage. Alas’sadaq el mossammah bai’nanah— on the terms we name between us. Again, Carmen, what are your demands? Make them.”
    “I just want Mennah.”
    “And you will always have her. What else do you want?”
    “I don’t want anything.”
    She was lying again. She had to be. She wanted luxuries and privileges, like any woman. That was why she’d been with him. Why she’d betrayed him. But she knew she’d get them by default being his wife, was pretending she cared nothing for them. A trick as old as woman.
    She was also lying about something else. She wanted him. He could smell her arousal, feel the need for satisfaction tearing through her as it was tearing through him. He’d soon give it to her, give her everything she wanted. He’d have it all, too.
    He’d give his daughter his love, her birthright. And he’d quench his lust for Carmen until he was sated. He’d relegate her to the role of Mennah’s mother when he had no more use for her.
    He might even divorce her if he wished. He didn’t need her consent for that. He’d decide it, and it would be done.
    But if his memories of what they’d had were anywhere near accurate, if the agony he was in at the moment was any indication, that wouldn’t happen for a long time yet.
    A very long time.

Five
    “W ill you need anything else, ya Somow’el Ameerah? ”
    Carmen squinted up at the thin, dark, bird-of-prey-like man who stood above her, body language loud with deference.
    He’d called her Somow’el Ameerah. Again. She couldn’t get her head around it. Wondered if she ever would.
    It had been Somow’el Ameer Farooq this and Somow’el Ameer Farooq that since they’d set foot outside her building. All the way out of the country. It had taken his word—well, under a dozen words—to get her out of there. It had taken even less to make her Somow’el Ameerah. Highness of the princess. Her royal highness in Arabic. He’d waved his magic wand and made her a princess….
    It had really happened. He’d stormed into her life, had uprooted her existence all over again.
    He’d literally uprooted it this time. He’d snatched her from her home, from her country, from everything she knew, had soared with her to the unknown. And she had a feeling she’d never be back. Not for more than visits anyway. And since she had no one to visit anymore, she doubted she’d even be back at all…
    Her lungs emptied as another breaker of anxiety slammed into her, pushing her under, the foreboding of stepping into the quicksand of Farooq’s existence pulling at her, the forces synergizing, paralyzing her under their onslaught.
    Oh God, what had she let herself in for?
    She was on board his jet, on her way to Judar. There was no going back, no way out, now or ever…
    “Ameerati?”
    The concern in that word slowed down the spiral of agitation. The man with the hawk’s face and eyes was doing it again. Probing her with solicitude, scanning her with an insight she’d bet could read her thoughts. She’d also bet he’d seen through Farooq’s declaration that he’d reclaimed his wife and child, ending the misunderstanding that had led to their separation.
    She remembered him well. He’d been there from the first time she’d seen Farooq, his shadow. Hashem. Farooq had told her to ask Hashem for anything in his absence. He was the only one Farooq trusted implicitly, in allegiance and ability, discretion