Elizabeth Lane - Special Deliveries - Heir To His Legacy - Heir to a Desert Legacy

Chloe looked up sharply, shimmering strands of red hair catching the light, the backdrop of the blue ocean highlighting the depth of her eyes. She had no makeup on, but then, Chloe rarely did. Nothing beyond the minimum. But something about her struck him as different. Fresh, her freckles clearly visible, her skin pink.

She was brighter, he realized. Not as exhausted. The dark circles under her eyes had faded away.

“I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” she said.

The woman who was working on the henna turned and bowed her head low, her forehead brushing the ground, then she turned back and continued on with her design. The display meant nothing to him. A customary show of servitude. But at this point, one he gladly took as a positive sign that he was being accepted in his temporary position. That his impending marriage to Chloe was having the desired effect.

“When were you expecting me to show up? Just in time for vows?”

“Something like that,” she said.

“Well, I’m not quite so last-minute. I wanted to go over security measures with Alik.”

“Oh, right.”

He watched her face closely when he said his friend’s name. “You’ve met Alik?”

“Of course. He’s very friendly.”

“How friendly exactly?” he asked, his teeth gritted.

“Well he…” She cut herself off. “Are you… irritated?”

“No.”

“You are. Are you… bothered by the fact that he was friendly to me?”

He snorted. “That’s ridiculous. I would hope he was friendly to you. You are the future sheikha of Attar.”

She tilted her head to the side and squinted, as if she was studying a specimen beneath a microscope. “You… are you jealous?”

“I am not given to the emotion in any circumstance. Not even with a woman who is my lover. There is absolutely no reason I would feel it in connection with you.”

“That’s very true. There isn’t a reason. Except that I’m marrying you tomorrow and while the institution is human in concept, the idea of a male possessing his mate with some form of exclusivity runs across species. How else can a male be certain his offspring is truly his?”

“The offspring in this instance is not mine, as you well know. And as I don’t—” he looked down at the woman, still working on Chloe’s feet “—as you are well aware, our situation is different.”

“But it’s a deep-seated male need, so the fact that your brain knows it doesn’t necessarily mean your body does.”

He arched one brow and looked at her. Color crept into her cheeks slowly, staining the freckles a darker shade. “I suppose that is true,” he said, just for a moment, one moment, embracing the dark, restless ache that spread through his body whenever he looked at her. Acknowledging what it was. Attraction. Lust. Letting himself fully visualize all the fantasies that had been rioting through his brain in fuzzy, half-formed pictures for over a week.

Her body, beneath his, arching into him as he chased his release inside of her. Bending her over, making her grip the headboard, hands tight on her hips as he thrust inside.

Oh, yes, that was what he wanted.

And he would not allow himself to have it. Because the lust he felt for her wasn’t simple. It went deeper, went to a place he had to deny existed. The place with all the cracks. The place that held his weakness.

“You think you know what it is my body wants?” he asked, aware that his voice sounded rough.

The color in her cheeks deepened. “I mean, in terms of… the fidelity aspect and the um… reproductive um… and laying claims to offspring, and so on… well… yes?”

He chuckled, letting the erotic images of a few moments before replay in his mind. “No. I don’t think you know what my body wants. I’m not sure you know what yours wants, either.”

She frowned, lush lips pulled down. “That’s ridiculous. Of course I know what my body wants.”

“But you think I don’t?”

“No, I think what your body wants and what your mind believes to be true are at odds. That’s different.”

“I see. And what is it your body wants, Chloe?”

He waited, watched as she seemed to have a mini-realization. Her lips parted slightly, her eyes widening. “Not… not that,” she said.

It was as though she’d only just picked up on the depth of the innuendo in the conversation. And that seemed strange to him. A woman of her age and beauty, should be well aware of the undertones to conversations between men and women. She should be well versed in the words beneath the words.

Yet, it seemed as though she wasn’t. He wasn’t sure how that could be possible.

“Alik is off-limits,” he said, deciding that the direct approach would work best with her.

She wrinkled her nose. “You’re telling me this because you honestly thought I would… Ugh.”

He looked down at the woman kneeling before Chloe. She was putting the finishing touches on the flower, and as soon as she had completed the task, he spoke to her in Arabic. “You are dismissed.”

She nodded once and gathered her things, walking quickly from the deck without looking at either Chloe or him.

“What did you say to her?” Chloe asked.

“I told her she could go.”

“She didn’t look at us.”

“Giving us our due respect.”

“I don’t require that people treat me like… like that.”

He shrugged. “I don’t require it. But I gladly accept it. It’s a sign that no one is out to oppose me. There are reasons that deference is appreciated. Especially given how well received I was initially.”

“Hmm,” she said, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, her eyes trained on the vines that curled around her foot and back behind her ankle.

“You disapprove?”

“Does it matter?”

“No. But I am curious.”

“Fine. It’s just another way that patriarchal men reinforce their dominance. I grant you, it’s not the most despicable way, but it’s a way.”

“There are plenty of queens in the world, habibti. Queens who are intent on crushing their subordinates beneath a spiky heel. Don’t think it is unique to men.”

“Well, you’re not making a great case for it in terms of behavior.” She stood, swooping down to collect Aden. He noticed that she was more confident now with the baby than when he’d first met her. “Coming out here playing the part of territorial wolf. Trying your best to claim exclusive rights on a, uh… a caribou carcass you don’t even want.”

“Did you just compare yourself to a caribou carcass?”

“Unfortunate parallel aside,” she said, “the point remains valid.”

“I never said I didn’t want you,” he said. The words torn from him, the admission unwelcome. And they hung between them, thickening the tension that had building ever since the first moment he’d seen her.

He took a step toward her, her scent, sweet, feminine, filled with honeysuckle, grabbed his throat and threatened to choke him with his lust.

She was very wrong if she thought he didn’t know what he wanted. He knew. And it involved her naked and crying out his name, with pleasure rather than the complete frustration he usually heard coming from her.

“But I… you. You did. I’m sure you did. There was all kinds of talk about other lovers and… and I’m sure the implication was…”

“That I’m not committing myself to a sixteen-year exclusive relationship with you. Which means it’s best if nothing ever happens between the two of us.”

“Oh. But… but it could. You’re saying it could in terms of… because you’re… are you attracted to me?”

The way she asked the question, the utter lack of guile and calculation in the words, was astonishing to him. It was as if she’d missed the tension. No, she hadn’t, he was sure of that, but it was as if she’d imagined she’d been the only one to feel the electricity arching between them.